The Emotion Thief
by Nitlon
Summary: Jacob stopped running in Montana thanks to someone who doesn't quite know what she's doing. Will sparks fly? No, no they will not.
1. Chapter 1

I sigh, stuffing my hands in my sweatshirt pocket. It's raining again. It's not that I don't like rain – I mean, I love rain. For one thing, it always insures for me that there's no one else in the forest. Not that anyone ever comes to Montana anyways. Even on sunny days this place is virtually deserted – and a good thing, too.

Thirteen year olds shouldn't be antisocial, but it's turned out to be incredibly convenient, considering that I not only live in the middle of nowhere but that I'm home schooled. Even if I wanted a friend I probably couldn't get one. Plus there's almost no real homework, so I can spend all my free time in the forest. You know, seeing as we don't even have internet – my family, not Montana in general. Though that is debatable.

A particularly fat drop of moisture plops itself on my nose, rolling down to the dip and hanging there until I shake my head like a damp dog.

"Hello, mountains!" I shout, just for the hell of it, my voice echoing throughout the empty forest.

But empty isn't the right word at all – it's full of life. I should know. Should the desire present itself, I could seek out a deer or, if I were lucky, even a black bear. I inhale deeply, the decay and new growth of the forest mingling in my nose, a tantalizing scent.

"Nothing ever comes here." I mutter. I've gotten quite used to talking to myself – or verbally processing, if you will. I mean being 'the forest girl' is all well and good, but it can get old quick. "And the _freakin'_ mountains are always there!" I screech, breath tearing out of my lungs and stinging.

"And nothing is ever going to come here." I grumble finally.

This is the part where an evil faerie jumps down from it's tree home and puts a blindfold over my eyes, replacing me with a changeling.

No?

Fine. Then this is the part where I come across a group of mafia doing illegal trading in a clearing in the woods, and have to go undercover with the help of the CIA for the rest of my life so that they never catch me.

This is where I trip and fall into a deep crevasse that turns out to be populated by creatures once thought extinct.

Now is when a giant Roc swoops down from the treetops, grabbing me with her great talons, and bringing me to feed to her chicks.

This is where I see a badger? Come on. Give me something. I need something, anything, to happen.

But it never does – and I know why.

The reason the protagonist in a story becomes a protagonist is because something has to happen to them that is out of the ordinary, something abnormal, an anomaly. But the thing about standing out is that there has to be a majority from which to stand out – and I'm destined to be part of that majority. I'm the path always taken. And no matter how hard I try to claw my way off the beaten path, I'm always sucked right back in. This is horrible. I'm thirteen years old! I'm supposed to have delusions of fame and grandeur and making a difference, not resigning myself to a cubicle in a forgotten town somewhere in the northwest state that no one ever thinks about.

Some days I wake up thinking 'okay'.

Okay, I'm never going to be famous. So what.

Okay, I'll be forgotten when I die. So is everyone.

Okay, I'll just get married and have kids. Sounds nice, really.

Okay. I'll just give up. I'll read – and I'll pretend that I'm having the adventures. That's the point of books, isn't it?

But today I'm just feeling sorry for myself. Did you know that the one known dividing line between humans and other animals is the ability to contemplate one's own mortality? It's not really a good thing.

I groan, sliding my back down a large hemlock trunk until I've seated myself on the ground, legs out in front of me.

This is the part where when I open my eyes there'll be a mythical creature in front of me. Sasquatch, maybe.

I sigh, pulling the sleeves of my sweatshirt down to cover the hands that are surely red and immobile from the damp cold.

I don't want to open my eyes. If I open my eyes the hope will be extinguished again. If I open my eyes that little flame will die again, burning up my insides.

But I open my eyes anyway, just barely able to make out the outline of the snow capped Rockies between the ancient trees.

I wrap my arms around myself, heaving great breaths.

"Somebody!" I cry. "Is there even anyone out there?" I let out a choked laugh, falling over on my side and using my arm as a pillow.

The forest isn't much different when you look at it horizontally.

This is the part where…

I shake my head. This is the part where I give up on the elves and the faeries and the magic. Because nothing is coming for me. And I'll live in this world of brown, and green, and grey, for the rest of my life.

But the truth about being alone is that there's no point unless someone notices.

For example, if you were a hermit, there's really no point in living atop a mountain for twenty five years and never speaking a single word unless every now and then an adventurer stops by to say "Wow."

Somehow I've convinced myself of the mentality that if I keep telling myself nothing's going to happen, something will. Because reverse psychology always worked on the universe in the books.

I snuggle my head further into my arm. I've still got time. I'm only thirteen. I still have time to change. Don't I?

Last year, though, almost to the day – it was a week or two to my thirteenth birthday, and I was so desperate to make something happen in my life that not only would I walk around all the time, but I'd walk at night. As late as my parents would let me. I would create the most horrible, shiver inducing creatures to lurk in the shadows of my mind and the darkness of the trees, far better than any horror movie. Sometimes I'd have trouble going to sleep because of it. But I loved it anyway – the idea that the monsters would be interested in me.

Come on. This is the part where something...

No. Stop it. Stop hoping for…

For a wolf…

For a faerie…

For a vampire…

To show up.

My breath catches in my throat when I hear footsteps, soft and careful, pad in my direction. I don't care if it's a squirrel or a bunny or somebody's dog, it's something, and that means the universe is listening to me, just a little bit.

So I open my eyes.

And I discover that the universe was listening a lot closer than I thought.

A/N: I'm not too sure about this fiction…I'll probably end up continuing it for my own benefit, but I won't continue posting unless someone wants me to. I mean that's the point of the website, ain't it? Having other people read your stuff and vice versa for their/your enjoyment? So, if anybody would like me to continue it, say so. And if not, also say so. Come on. Help the little indie story that could. Huh? You know you want to.


	2. Chapter 2

My breath catches in my throat and I sit up, backing against the tree as far as possible

My breath catches in my throat and I sit up, backing against the tree as far as possible.

I've seen wolves before, countless times, but this one –

Oh, this one.

It's not just it's size, though that certainly is an anomaly worth noting. But it carries itself with this strange grace, this gentle and curious air.

It regards me coolly for a moment. Something about its eyes – they're so…so human. But vacant, injured, pained.

Turning away from me disinterestedly, it continues to sniff around the small circle of trees I've situated myself in, trotting around like an investigative dog.

It whines repeatedly, "hew, hew, hew, hew,", like it's upset.

It continues to sniff branches and under rocks, nearing ever closer to me. Normally I'd threaten to throw something at it, a large stick or something, if it were alone. But this thing could easily take me down by itself should it so choose.

I pause to disinterestedly admire it as it continues its frantic search. Beneath shaggy brown fur, like a Newfoundland, is a heavily muscled yet lean body. It's snout is slightly shorter than you'd see in a wolf, making it look more dog-like, though its entire body is matted and covered in burs.

Wait a minute. Guys, I know that Montana has a low population given it's size, but how did a giant wolf escape attention? This has got to be impossible.

Why do I care?

Something happened. Something is happening. Now.

He freezes when he gets to me, and I can practically see eyebrows furrow beneath fur-covered features.

He sniffs his way up my arm, great black nose right in front of my head now, sniffing my legs and my arms and my stomach and my sweatshirt and my hair.

But when he gets to my face he stops. Lowering his nose, mahogany eyes meet mine.

Man and beast.

For a minute, I forget that I'm staring a giant wolf in the face, his eyes enveloping mine.

I can almost feel pain emanate from his features, a horrible gap in his soul. Where there used to be something. But it's missing now.

So I forget my want for adventure and my plea for something to happen.

Because it's happening now. And I just want this animal to stop hurting, because I know it won't hurt me.

"Did you lose something, wolf?" I ask quietly, never taking my eyes from his face, placing my hands on his great head.

"Hew, hew, hew, hew," Comes the whine.

He doesn't shy away from my touch, so I bury my fingers further into his fur, scratching behind his ears.

"Did you lose something?" I repeat in a whisper, more for my own benefit than because I expect an answer.

The wolf's limbs begin to shake, with fatigue or emotion I don't know.

And even though I have no reason to, I feel a little hole open up in my chest, a little sucking pain, for just a second, before it disappears. But I feel a tear collect itself on the lip of my eyelid. Why would a wolf have things to worry about?

But as my own empathy dampened my mood, his load seems to lighten, limbs strengthening once again. Like I pulled a little pain out of him.

I smile, just a little bit. "Hello, wolf."

"Aroo." Comes the friendly growl.

His eyes search my own for another moment before he shakes his head, freeing it of my hands.

"Ark." He tells me, tail wagging a little, warm brown eyes smiling, before he turns on his heels and trots away from me, towards the mountains.

I don't care if he doesn't want me to – I'm following that wolf. I'm going to make my little adventure last for as long as possible.

Raising myself from the base of the tree, I follow cautiously, zigzagging in between the trees to keep him in sight, though he continues to trot at a pace where I'd have to run to keep up with him.

I see the flash of a furry brown tail vanish between two trunks, and I make my way for them as fast as I can, trying not to trip over rocks.

My trainers squeak on the damp ground, my foggy breath clouding the air in front of me as I inhale the damp wood smell.

But as I look around for another clue for direction, another sound to help me find him, I see only forest. I hear only insects and birds, and the wind beating trees against each other.

My adventure can't be over that quickly, can it?

Of course it can. I should have known – the universe doesn't just go around giving free passes. "Oh, you want a cure for cancer? Here ya go! But it only works on certain types and even then only occasionally and with great risk. You want global warming to cease? Sure, why not! But you have to convince the entire world to rid itself of its selfish ways. An adventure, you say? But of course! But it'll last thirty seconds and you can't tell anyone about it."

Fate, thy name is cruelty.

I pause, rocking back and forth a little, staring at the place where I last saw the wolf.

Of course it can be over.

"Wolf?"

Disclaimer: Oh, I don't own _shit_.


	3. Chapter 3

"Wolf

"Wolf…" I whimper uselessly, swaying on my feet, blinking back tears.

Shaking my head, back and forth…

Back and forth…

Back and forth…

I dizzy myself with my shaking, trying to rid myself of the realization of what I nearly had. But the universe doesn't give second chances.

I squat down, wrapping my arms around my knees, inhaling deeply.

That's okay. At least something happened, right? That's good. Who cares if it never…

Happens…

Again.

I care. Because I know that I'll be subject to walking these woods for the rest of my life, trying vainly to find it again. That tiny glimpse of otherworld.

That stupid wolf. That stupid f--ing wolf.

I bury my forehead in my arm, sighing deeply, trying my hardest not to cry. I'm not sure how long that'll work, but I wrap myself in the loose and baggy folds of my sweatshirt.

"Wolf." My voice cracks. I lost him. My funny wolf.

And then I begin to think when it is that I started thinking of him as mine.

XXX

I feel a gentle tug on my sleeve, a pull that threatens to tip me over. I shift my sleeve, as it's gotten caught under my knee, maybe my foot, to free it.

I try again.

And again.

But the pull grows stronger.

"_Hew_?" Comes the questioning whine.

"Wolf!" I cry happily, staring him in the face as a smile creeps onto my features. The wolf came back! He came back for _me_!

"Rooka." He grunts gruffly.

I stand, and even at my full height his gaze is level with mine.

He obediently lets go of my sleeve gently, careful that he hasn't grabbed muscle or skin.

He barks, sticking his bum up in the air, his tail thwacking from side to side like a playful puppy.

"Roof!" He tells me.

"Did you find what you lost, wolf?"

At this he straightens, tail stiffening, and at his great height I have to look up a bit.

"Hew." He whimpers uselessly, the familiar pain back in his eyes as he takes a step back.

"Wait!" I cry, stepping forward to tangle my hands in his mane. I curl my fingers in and out where his temples are, trying to soothe him.

I look him deep in his big brown wolf eyes, in the epicenter of all the hurt, and pain, and anguish. What happened to him? What could possibly be so terrible as to affect someone this profoundly?

And I feel his pain leak inside me, starting in my stomach, my shade of emotions flipping to dark. The agony in his chest infects mine, and I feel a hole again where something is missing, a tearing, like it's sucking in at the edges. God, it hurts so much!

"Oh," I cry, my voice trembling with emotion, with dole.

"Oh, wolf." But as I grow weaker, more lifeless, he seems to strengthen a bit, his eyes hardening, a light of amusement returning. I smile a little as I choke down the pain, seeing as I have no reason to feel it.

"Roo." He says, rolling the 'r'. He turns on his heels again, trotting once more in the direction of the Rockies.

And I plummet again, wondering why he came back at all if he was just going to leave.

"_Hew_!" He chides, turning his head back to look at me and frowning as much as a wolf can.

He…

No. No way.

He wants me to follow him! This doesn't happen! I've always dreamt…

Thank you. Whatever supernatural entity that arranged this. Thank you.

"You want me to come?" I ask quietly, wondering if he can understand me.

The wolf snorts, the lupine equivalent of rolling your eyes, and trots back around me to circle behind.

I wonder what he's doing until he nudges my back with his muzzle, pushing me forward slightly.

"Oh!" I giggle girlishly, then clamp a hand over my mouth.

I. Am. Not. A. Valley girl.

"Haroo." He moans, walking with painfully slow steps and looking back to me every three seconds.

"I'm coming, I'm coming, wolf." I laugh, jogging up to him.

He grunts appreciatively.

This time, to be sure that he doesn't escape again, and just because…because I want to, I place my hand on his hackled shoulder blade.

I pat him once or twice. "Lead the way, wolf." I smile.

And he does.


	4. Hurriquake

I walk level with his front legs, taking three or four steps for every one of his. I wonder where he's going – he seems to have a very particular destination in mind, and it's getting late. The rain has let up, but sunlight isn't breaking through the clouds, making me wonder what time it is. I left my house in late afternoon, after all. But I suppose it wouldn't be so bad if I got home after dark – after all, like I said, nothing ever happens.

Except this.

This is happening – I'm still not sure I've entirely convinced myself of that.

"Where are you taking me, pup?" I chuckle. He stops to look at me, triggered, I suppose, by the sound of my voice, turning his enormous head to look at me.

He just grins a big wolf grin, leans in, and drags a huge wet pink tongue across my face.

"Oh, wolf!" I burst out laughing, I can't help myself.

Once I've gotten control, I bring up the sweatshirt sleeve of the arm that isn't permanently glued to his side and wipe off my face, even though it isn't that wet, making quite a show of ridding myself of the invisible spittle.

When I lower my hand, he nudges it slightly with the butt of his head so that I unwittingly caress his cheek with my fingers again, once more trapped in his gaze.

I think I'm getting the hang of this now, just a little bit. Instead of trying to avoid it, I place my hands on either side of his great, shaggy face and look as deep as I can into shaky brown swimming pool eyes.

With one hand I smooth fur away from his face, revealing the sharp features and set mouth I expected.

"Oh, wolf." I repeat shakily, letting his pain bind me, overflow into me. That little tugging, sucking feeling in my chest, inexplicable, but more painful than that summer I broke my arm. And once more, I see him improve just a little. I hate to think that this is only a fraction of the hurt he feels.

And I wonder when I started thinking of my wolf as a he.

Again I choke down the pain I have no reason to feel, and he whimpers gratefully, sniffing my face.

I laugh, a halfhearted, vacant thing.

"Aroo." He rumbles, nudging under my chin gently before proceeding forward.

I feel his shoulder move, up and down, up and down, under my hand, marveling at the bunching and relaxing muscle.

"Where are you taking me?" I ask, more for my benefit than his. "This is the most one sided conversation I've ever had." I laugh.

"Wait, second-most. I forgot about that thing with the mountains." I tell him.

He snorts at me again, weaving through the trees expertly like he's been here a thousand times. I guess it's different for animals. Huh.

Now with a guiding force, and mildly secure in the notion that he's not going to abandon me again – though it never pays to assume anything – I pause to admire my surroundings again. He's most definitely headed west, for the Rocky Mountains, maybe.

Lichen clings to trees at all possible angles, pine needles coat the floor in a dusty orange, branches sprout from trees everywhere possible.

And after what seems like hours, but judging from the position of what little I can see of the sun was just minutes, we arrive at what I assume – or hope – was the original destination.

"Holy…" I whisper, gazing at the scene before me. The setting sun – now visible with the clouds having been chased away – paints everything a warm, glowing orange. We stand on a small hill that over looks it all. The Missouri River twists before us, curving powerfully into the mountain range in the background. The banks are lined with pebbles and gravel, worn by time and water, and on them grows wild grass as green as a new leaf, every blade. Farther back from that are bushes, and eventually great tall evergreens, silhouetted by the flaming sunset. It's a dream that glows with an inner fire.

I look down to see that the wolf has lain down quite purposefully, paws out in front of it and ears perked up readily.

I sit down next to him, crossing my legs, and we watch the river's water slowly and gratefully trudge away from the mountains, onto the journey of a thousand miles. Metaphorically speaking.

I glance sideways at him, wishing that I could know how wolves think.

Without thinking about it myself, I wrap my arms around his huge, bushy neck and hug him like a glorified teddy bear.

"Funny thing." I whisper into his ear, smiling and scratching his big nose. He just gives me a little whine.

This close, I can almost feel what's wrong. Like there's a big old hole in the middle of his chest.

But this time I think I know what to do.

With my arms still wrapped tight around his neck, the occasional stray fur tickling my arms, I squeeze him even tighter, burying my face behind his ear. I squeeze so hard I wonder if one of us might pop.

So I fill him up. I fill in that huge, gaping hole in his chest with every overflowing and ridiculous and unnecessary emotion I've ever felt. The crying over spilled milk, the angst about being forever a plain child, the beauty of the stars that I've wondered about, the anger when one of my brothers does something typical of brothers, the happiness I feel outside. Every spare emotion, every extra feeling, I give it to the wolf and I fill up the hole in his chest with everything I've got because there's no one in this world that deserves to bear that emptiness on his own.

I don't know how I do it. Or if it's really happening. But I feel it, feel myself close him and sew him up tight so he doesn't have to hurt anymore, and the weight on my shoulders lift a little wee bit. I feel a little less heavy, and he feels a little less empty.

I don't know how to describe it. Like chunks, flying out of me and getting sucked into him and sticking better than you'd think they would stick.

Even after he's all filled up, I don't take my arms down from his neck. I turn to watch the sun fade downward, sitting right next to him and looped around him like a Velcro monkey.

"Roo," he whisper-grunts, putting his gigantic head in my lap. It doesn't quite fit.

"Oh, wolf," I smile and, chuckling, scratch him behind the ears, much to his delight.

Maybe…

Maybe I could have a friend. Just one.

XXX

"Well, wolf, if you plan on stickin' around…do you?"

He groans. "HaroooOO." Translation: well duh, you nitwit. I thought that was obvious.

I laugh. "Fine. In that case, let's give you a nice name. Huh?"

"Ark." I'm assuming that's an affirmative.

"Let's start of simple. How about John."

He snorts and I swear, I SWEAR, he rolls his eyes.

"Not John? I guess it's a bit generic for you…Let's see…" I stare out at the river. Coming here always makes me think of Lewis and Clark.

Okay, well there we go.

"How about Meriweather, like Meriweather Lewis?"

"…Row." He glares at me.

"Now young…" He looks at me. "Young …uh…mammal, you be polite. He was a grand explorer."

He snorts.

"Well, fine, be that way. How about William?" As in William Clark (haha, got one on you, stupid…wolf thing).

"Mmmmm…." He groans reluctantly.

"Okay, not William. Let's go with something else English. Uh…Philip?"

"Roo…"

"Fine. Richard?"

"ROWF!"

"Okay, that's a nugatory on the Richard. Let me think…" I pause to consider it.

"How about Edward?"

He stiffens. Every muscle in his body tenses, his jaw set tight, his eyes hard, staring straight ahead.

"Hello?"

A low, guttural growl begins in the base of his throat, his eyes flashing anger. It crescendos, snarls tearing at the air as his bears gleaming white teeth, almost to the point of roaring when –

"Okay. I get it. Sorry." My voice is shaking. I'd almost forgotten that this is a wild animal.

Almost immediately, he relents, sitting down and crossing his paws, looking up at me morosely.

"Hew, hew, hew, hew," He whines, nudging my palm with his muzzle. Strange.

"You want me to keep going, wolf?"

"Aroo."

"Mmkay." I whisper, surprisingly calm, considering.

"Obviously English names aren't working. So why don't we branch off in the other direction…Uh, here we go. German version of William would be Wilhelm. How about Wilhelm?"

"…rowf."

"What? Why not?"

He glares at me.

"Okay. Fine, fine. But while we're with the Grimm brothers…how about Jacob?"

He pauses, cocks his head to the name, like he's listening to the sound.

"You like that name, boy? Jacob?"

"Aroo! Ark-af!" His iron bar of a tail thwacks the ground repeatedly, the epicenter of a mini-earthquake.

I grin. "Jacob it is."


	5. Chapter 5

I get home around – oh, ten at night? Not that anyone cares much. I'll be fourteen soon, anyway. Seriously, there's nothing in this state that would even come close to being scary. Well, besides the infamous Butchers Of Northwestern Montana.

For those of you too thick to realize: sarcasm.

What can I say. It's the only language I'm fluent in.

Too tired even to bother reading a few pages in my latest book, I plop down on the couch, pulling a blanket up around myself. I'm always the last the bed, the first to rise. Our family isn't so big on family values, i.e. eating dinner together every single night. We operate more like a group of people who, you know, choose to spend time together at will instead of at the point of a gun.

When I walk outside that morning there's a naked boy on my lawn.

XXX

"WHAT?!"

"Uh…" He leaps up, and I avert my eyes accordingly, opting instead to stare very intensely at the ground.

"Look, uh…"

"Dude, this is so not cool! This is like on the other side of the realm from cool! This is so far from cool that it's rushed right on by uncool and come out in another dimension! This is anti-cool!" I screech, my brain not really on full operation.

"Look, let me explain."

"Are you one of those idiots from Kalispell High? Is this a hazing thing? Because we can sue."

"What? No. It-it's okay, you can look up."

"I really, massively doubt that."

"I'm Jacob."

"Well that's a creepy coincidence."

"No, I mean I'm Jacob."

"And I'm an Aries. Go home, you idiot."

"Seriously." I hear footsteps on the grass, wet with morning dew, and a burning hand raise my chin to look in his face.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Come on!"

"Get pants."

"Look, I'm not going to hurt you."

"I realize that. I'm not scared of you, I'm pissed at you."

"Will you let me explain?"

"As long as you realize there is only a point two-five percent chance that I won't call the police or kick your ass after you do."

"Deal."

Frowning, I tentatively un-squeeze my eyes to look at him. An absurdly tall kid, he's probably a few years older than me – so I'm preparing myself for condescension and remarks about how 'it was so easy when I was your age'. At least, if any of my brothers are things to go by. Nitwits.

Native American (or is it American Indian? Meh, if you trace it back far enough we're all African, anyway.), with shaggy black hair and simple brown eyes. He's got one of those movie actor, hairless, lookit-me-I'm-so-purty chests.

Hang on, when did I start looking down that far? Eyes up, girl.

"So, talk."

He sighs, opening his mouth to begin before I stop him with traffic-guard-hand power alone.

"Hang on. Let me get you a towel."

Yeah, if I stole a pair of pants from any of my brothers they'd probably fit him, but for one thing I'm not so sure I want to face the wrath of my siblings.

Not that I can't hold my own. It becomes automatic when you're the only girl. Anyway.

Other than that, I don't really want him to have the privilege of pants. Let him look like a moron. Maybe I'll get him the swim towel of my earlier years with pink stripes.

Well, I get him a blue fuzzy one, but it's not very dignified anyways.

"Here," I say, shielding my eyes with my hand and thrusting the towel out in front of me.

"Thanks," I feel it taken gently from my grasp.

"You decent?"

"Uh…yep, now I am."

"Took you long enough." I grumble, taking my hand from my eyes.

"So?"

"There's no easy way to say this."

I glare at him, then gasp rather insincerely.

"You're pregnant! Tell me, is it mine?!"

"Ha, ha. I don't even know your name."

"Yeah, I think I get that privilege. Or did you forget who showed up on whose lawn wearing nothing but his birthday suit?"

"I told you my name."

"And I'm still waiting for a good excuse." He sighs, running a large hand through his hair.

"There's not really any point in lying. I'm…Jacob."

"GASP!" Yes, I said 'gasp', as in the word. "But I thought no boys had names!"

"No, as in yesterday's Jacob."

"And tomorrow you will be today's Jacob. Unless you plan on changing your name."

"Like the wolf."

"Great, you were watching me too. That's not creepy." I hiss. Though to a certain degree, I'm a bit flattered.

"Well, yeah. Seeing as I was – am – that wolf."

"Dude. You may be taller and possibly stronger, but believe me when I say I can make you hurt. Bad."

He smiles this time, genuine, happy though disbelieving. "That – that's the point. Yesterday. You made me stop hurting."

"Really. Really, that's the _best_ you can come up with?"

He takes a step closer. I take a step back. This just became a lot less funny.

"Don't tell me you didn't know you were doing it. It's like – well, not that you made the cause of the pain less severe, but more…you made it seem less painful. Like maybe I'll get over it. Someday."

Great. So in addition to being a terrible liar, but he's also chock full o' angst.

"Do you need me to prove it to you?"

"Prove…?"

"That I'm a werewolf."

"That'd be nice." I snort. Shit, man, why not? If he is, 'great'. If not, well, I've proven that he's mentally unsound.

He smiles, a warm and glowing thing that is mildly reassuring.

Then he removes his towel.

That just lost him all the points he'd earned.

Of course, then he starts convulsing and then he explodes with fur and turns into a wolf, which improves my opinion of him considerably.

XXX

"So, hang on. Let me get this totally straight, kay?"

"Mm." He nods, leaning back on his elbows as I cross my legs and sit next to him.

"You weren't a werewolf for a while, but then you were. And then you found out about imprinting, and imprinted on a girl who was in love with your greatest enemy."

"Uh huh."

"But that was okay, 'cause of he'd left her and you were there to pick up the pieces like a lame rock song."

"Spot on so far."

"But then he came back and she wanted to be your friend while still sucking face with this mysterious somehow also supernatural even though you won't tell me why guy, and of course that was worse even though at least you still got to spend time with her."

"Well, when you put it like that it just sounds lame."

"Sorry."

"'S fine."

"Alright, then you found out that she was marrying him which just plain old broke your little wolf heart, and then you ran away and bumped into me and now I'm playing therapist."

He sighs. "Sorry."

"Why?"

"Well, you don't sound too thrilled about playing therapist."

I shrug, tearing a strand of grass from the lawn and playing with it absently, staring into the forest that starts only yards from our house.

This. Is. Awesome.

Werewolves and something else – I don't know what else – but clearly it's something, which I definitely plan on finding out at some point. Maybe I could be a novel. A series.

Nay, a boxed set!

"So what do you do now?"

He shakes his head. "I probably will have to go back. At some point, anyway. But not now. I gotta get a grip first, you know?"

"And you plan on doing that by talking to a hippie teenager?"

He snorts. "You helped. I was thinking maybe you could do it again?"

I pause to think about it.

"What's your real name?"

"Jacob."

"No, I mean the one on your birth certificate."

"Jacob."

"Buddy, the world doesn't have that many coincidences."

"It's Jacob. Promise."

Then I'm guessing his reaction to 'Edward' wasn't just because he really, really didn't like the name.

"Fine."

"What's your name?"

"Not telling."

"Are you seriously that paranoid?"

I eye him carefully. "Well, I doubt that you're going to rape and murder me, but I'd like to keep some things to myself."

"Why?"

Because I read the Bartimaeus Trilogy and now I don't like telling people my real name.

Maybe I'll make something up. Something epic. Uh…Rianna! Uh…Sequoia! (wait, that's a tree). Whatever.

Fine. Fine. Maybe later. Right now I have to grill him about werewolves.

Okay, so I got my adventure (sort of). Now how am I going to pay for it?

A/N: Comments/criticisms?


	6. Sadie

A/N: Alright, I took a few liberties with the actual 'rules' of the werewolves in this chapter. My world, my made-up-bull-honkey.

-a week later, give or take a day or two-

"Why do you sit up here?"

"_Mother_ of _pearl_, don't scare me like that!" I half-screech, scrambling away desperately.

I _was_ sitting peacefully on my roof, staring at whatever wouldn't stare back at me. It's always…always something, up here. The sun heats the tiles, and they absorb the heat and stay deliciously warm for hours, even in the shade. Sometimes I read, sometimes, at night, I just look up.

"That's not an answer."

"I just…like it, okay? It's habit."

"Funny habit to get into." Jacob says, scooting closer and further creeping me the heck out.

"I'd explain, but it'd be kind of a downer." I say, knowing that he'll drop it now.

"Hey, downers are my specialty. I live in a big heaping bowl of downers. I eat downers for breakfast."

"Mine's worse." I counter, my voice on the line between joking and 'drop it, I'm serious.'

"Mmkay, I believe you." He says, grinning.

"I liked you better as a wolf."

"What? Damnit."

"That's what you get, sucker! That's what you get!" I take a piece of concrete that's eroded from the chimney and chuck it at him, missing by mear…uh…feet.

"Nice shot."

"You're going to choke on tar before you reach twenty one." I say.

"Wow. That's…dark. And pretty specific."

"Notice the t shirt, bud." I tell him, looking back out to the forest. Double-whammy. My shirt is a cartoon drawing of two kittens playing rather delightedly with a grenade, and also serves to remind him that he's still not wearing a shirt. I'm the kid that blocks her eyes when the movies show a guy sleeping shirtless or brushing his teeth shirtless or eating breakfast shirtless.

So I was none-too-happy when he told me that it was just 'more convenient' not to wear a shirt.

"Well, while you're wasting my time, can I ask you something that's been bugging me?"

"Uh huh?"

"Kay." I scoot up, sitting right below the peak, on which he has seated himself, crossing his legs. At least he managed to find pants somewhere.

"You said you imprinted on the girl, right?"

"Well, sort of."

"Wait, what?"

"Uh…"

"'Splain, please."

"I…fell in love with her?"

"So you didn't imprint."

"I got damn close." He offers.

Groaning, I place the palm of my hand on my forehead and the bridge of my nose.

"Well excuse me."

"What? What'd I do now?!" He whines.

"I was feeling all sorry for you for losing your one true love! Turns out you've still got a true love somewhere out there-" I wave my hand around in the general direction of Out There, just in case he doesn't get the point, "who you could still find at any moment!"

He doesn't brighten, at least not noticeably.

"But-"

"But, phooey. Get off your ass and find her." I think about it. "Or him. I don't judge."

He glares at me, makes me feel all small inside. "I think I'm allowed a suitable period of mourning."

"After someone who's still alive? Fat chance, buck-o. Not after you told it to the Queen of Ice, here." I knee him in the leg with my heel.

But evidently he doesn't feel so much like joking around, instead staring at me with eyes that I swear still belong on that wolf, not a human being.

"What was your question?" He asks me softly.

I puff out a breath and look back to the Looming Wilderness.

"So, you couldn't tell her what you were cause you didn't imprint."

"Yeah."

"Why could you tell me?" I look back, cocking my head to the side.

He shrugs. "A few reasons."

"Like…?"

Sighing, he turns to look at what I'm looking at. Mainly being the Rockies, actually.

"It was just…different with you. Plus, I'm so far away…from them, you know? I think we only have like a radius of how far our thoughts will travel. In case there are other groups. So this far out, I can't hear them anyway."

I thought about this. It made sense, and so I told him so.

Of course, I'm a wee bit confused now.

"'Different with me'? I assume you don't mean imprinting." And, of course, by assume I mean hope.

"Well, no, not exactly. Just that…you're an exception to the rule. Probably for all of us." I don't ask the question that's bugging me: how many of you are there? And WHAT'S THAT OTHER THING?! Goddamnit.

"Great. That's just a lovely thing to know." Queen Of The Damned. Snort.

"No, I'm serious, like you're not a normal human."

"Jeez, I'm a freak now? Hey man. Rocks and logs might bite like dogs, but words will never hurt me." Damn. All out of things to chuck at him. Stupid rooftops.

"That thing you did, though! You made it better!"

What, the thing where I would feel like crud but it would make you feel better? That was just harper dandy, that was.

"Accident."

"Wasn't." He accuses, poking me in the ribs with a jumbo-sized, too-hot finger.

"Be honest. You could tell! Even when I was a wolf, you could totally tell!" I try not to openly hiss at him.

"You figured out I was hurting. And where from." Just him saying that reminds me of the suckey-hole feeling.

"You could see."

"Shut up. You sound like a girl."

"Don't be sexist."

"Fine. Don't be a stereotypical girl."

"That's still kind of sexist."

I snort. "So, does everyone have an 'imprint' or whatever?"

"I guess so…but we don't always find them. It's actually becoming a lot more common, though."

"But you do know that you have one, right?"

He shrugs. "I always just assumed. Can you tell?"

"I hate to tell you this, but the imprinting thing doesn't happen to people."

"Shut up, dimwad, I meant can you tell for me."

"Huh?" I guess I kind of know what he's talking about, doesn't mean I want to do it. I didn't like that feeling before, like I was looking at something that should only ever suffer one detection, that of the feeler.

"Just, like, see…if I have one. Look at what you were before."

"There isn't exactly a map printed on your chest."

"Not that you bothered to check."

"'Scuse me for not being a pervert."

"I though all teenagers were perverts."

"Only boys."

"Oh." He lies down on his back (oof, bare skin on shingles), and for a little while we watch the forest.

Up north, it's almost all evergreens, at least what I can see. Emerald needles sway as one on each tree, and each tree itself seems only a single needle on the one teeming branch, attached to the great tree trunk of the ground.

While he's distracted, I sneak a little glance at him.

Can I? Feel his – his soul? Essence? Whatever it's called.

I wonder. I don't really know what I'm doing, but he won't know the difference either way.

So I open him up. I don't quite know how to describe it. I just reach in, I find that piece of myself that I gave him when he was still a wolf, and from there I climb into his cavernous soul. It's not a tangible thing, really. I don't…_feel_ it. It's just closer to feeling than it is to smelling or seeing it. Like how you hear silence more than you can taste it.

"Are you…um…checking?" His voice almost tips me off balance.

Balance, that's a nice way of putting it. Like I'm a stranger here, in his subconscious, teetering on the edge and looking in.

"I don't know what I'm looking for. What do you think it would feel like?"

He pauses, and I feel him pause, and pause with him.

"I guess…a hole. A part of me that's missing. Because that would be filled up by my imprint."

"Uh huh."

"Okay, so-"

"Shush." I hiss, focusing harder. Like there are a million different pillars, but every one is skinny as a pencil at the base and way up at the top is as wide as a door, so I have to balance real careful in order to not break any. They're colors, too. Well, more colors than they are anything else. Like how a square is a color, or a thought is a color. So some of them are much more wolf-oriented, and some are more human-oriented, or at least I'm assuming because they fall into two very different categories, and those are the only two I can think of.

But it's funny, too, because at the same time I'm sitting on the roof staring straight at his chest, even though I'm feeling (well, feeling more than it is seeing or smelling) every little facet of his soul.

One of the pillars is broken. I guess. It's more translucent than the others, like a little something that was there isn't anymore because something was taken that I couldn't just replace.

That's where she hurt him.

But it's not a missing space. That's always going to be a little empty.

"Sadie?"

"Mm?" I don't pull myself out. It's so fascinating in here. I want to explore it, touch it, see what it's made of. But that would be trespassing.

"I don't have one, do I? I don't even have an imprint."

With a start, I pull myself out, shaking my head with exasperation, trying to clear that sleepy feeling.

"Sadie?" I wince.

I raise my head, look him straight in the face.

"I'm so sorry, Jacob."

With a hissing intake of breath, he looks away, clenching his fists, though he doesn't make a move to leave.

"I'm so sorry."

A/N: Thoughts?


	7. Chapter 7

"It's not that bad. Seriously. Come on, there are six and a half billion people in this world who DON'T have a one-hundred-percent-guaranteed soul mate, and we're handling it just fine. Face it. You don't need a soul mate in the world. Our biological instinct is just eat-screw-make babies-die. I think you'll find it works rather well."

"That's really depressing."

I shrug. "I barely even like you. Why lie for you?"

He snorts. "You just don't _get_ it, do-"

"Sweetie! I'm home! Where are you? Honey? Where-"

"I'm up here, Mom," I shout grudgingly from my window into my bedroom, scrambling back over the sill.

My mother means well, really she does, but she's taken the 'only two females in the house' thing a bit too seriously. She's convinced that if I'm not in immediate earshot I'm dying somewhere tied up in a basement getting repeatedly raped and stabbed. Both me and the dog suffer this fate.

My dad's not home, he's on a business trip. He goes on a lot of those. Not that I'm complaining. I hate the 'oh, my father never went to my baseball games boo-hoo I feel neglected as a child' nonsense. I love my dad, he loves me, and that's that. I don't feel neglected.

"What are you doing up there? You left the door to your room open?! The dog could have climbed out and fallen off the roof! You know he's not that bright!"

"Mom, he's not – never mind." The dog, I hold the firm belief, is my mother's favorite child. He's the only one she can still baby hopelessly. Hey, if it makes her feel better.

My mother is where I get my stocky, steady frame from. My dad is a short, slight guy with a tendency to only wear new clothes if he's already worn them.

She used to have red-brown, curly hair, which is now graying slowly over a period of years.

At the moment, she is standing at the base of the stairs (the staircase leads to a sort of central pad from which three separate bedrooms branch off of), so I trudge down the stairs, tell her I love her, get on the computer and pray to Jesus that Jacob got the heck off that roof.

Yeah, I know I said we don't have internet. I play Minesweeper. I'm getting good.

"I was thinking about rice, green beans and some salad for dinner. How does that sound?"

Dreadful.

"Can I make my own food?"

"No."

"That sounds fine."

Great, another bland and tasteless meal by the Kitchen Skill-less Chef. Fine.

XXX

I'll save you the torment of the dinner conversation.

Wait, no I won't.

"So, what did you do today?"

"Nothing."

"You just sat and…and stared at a wall?" My mother barks her trademark laugh.

She has yet to understand sarcasm, as I get it.

"I did nothing that was remotely interesting. I went for a walk. I read."

"You know Sara, I try _really _hard to make conversation and _excuse me_, _excuse me_ for taking an interest in your life! I wasn't rude to you, I was trying to be polite. And you can't even give me a polite answer, just your monosyllabic grunts!"

I say nothing. My mom's job is really stressful. She spends half her day dealing with impossible people. Little things can set her off – not clearing dishes, forgetting to walk the dog, et cetera. I don't begrudge her this. She tries her best.

"Sorry."

She purses her lips. "That's alright, sweetie."

XXX

I climb the stairs to my room, wondering idly if Jacob will be waiting for me. I'd been trying to think of how I could be wrong about the imprinting wrong. For one thing, I never believe anything is one-hundred-percent. I'm never completely sure. Too paranoid about being wrong – because how stupid will you look if you say you're completely sure and somehow, impossibly (according to you) and someone proves you wrong? No, I'm very rarely completely sure of anything.

I flip through my workbook. I have some homework assignments. I'll do them later. Bah, procrastination is a right of passage!

"You know, you've got a lot of gall telling me I'm never going to be happy." The voice comes from directly behind me, sending an involuntary shiver down my back.

Oh, great, so people have conversations like this now.

"I didn't say that. Not even close. Not my fault you have overdramatic tendencies."

"You have no idea what it's like to be on my side of the line!"

"I know pretty darn well." I reply, turning around calmly. "I did look into your soul. Or something. Oh, hey, is the other thing other, you know, feely-touchy-telepathic people like me?"

"No! I don't even know what you are!" He's on the verge of shouting.

"Well I barely know what you are! You go from a hundred-fifty pound guy to a three hundred fifty pound wolf! Where's the other two hundred pounds come from?"

"How should I know!!"

"Listen, I think you're overreact-"

"You're not helping!! God, Sadie, can't you see that I just need to _shout_ for a while?!"

"Well, FINE! Let's having a bloody SHOUTING MATCH!"

"Why are you so…so frickin'…"

"Human?"

"What is your issue, man?!"

I'm not really sure what we're fighting about right now. I'm playing along helplessly.

"I have no idea!"

"You're names not even Sadie, is it?!"

"No, no it's not!"

"Why did you lie?" His voice drops to a venomously low level.

"Jake," he doesn't react to my voice. "Jake, I think you need to go."

"I don't have anywhere to go."

"So you choose to pick a random fight with a stranger."

"You're not a stranger."

"You don't know my name." He looks as if he's barely restraining from just up and roaring, shaking uncontrollably.

"Look, man, you gotta relax-"

"I. Can't." He says through gritted teeth.

…Okay, death can't be that bad, can it? Nah. Ahem. Okay. I can take this. Here it comes.

He opens his eyes again. "What's your real name?"

"…Sara." I mutter, unable to think of a good lie (or a more interesting name).

"Okay. Okay. Sara. Hi. Okay."

"Are you alright?"

He takes a shaky breath.

"Jacob?" I take a hesitant step towards him. "You okay, buddy?" He smiles shakily.

"Oh, so now I'm your buddy?"

"You know what, sure, Jake. Why not. Buddies."

A/N: You know what I've always wanted to see? A story in which the hero and the heroine fall in love with obstacles, blah blah blah, and then all of a sudden, at the very end:

All of a sudden a meteor hit Generic Name High School everybody died the end.

And that would be that. Someone needs to get on that.


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

"Sara?"

...

...

..._shit_.

"Yeah, mom?" I sound surprisingly calm, with the appropriately aggravated tone of an antisocial teenager being interrupted by a meddlesome parent. Of course, I am in fact gesticulating wildly and trying to get Jacob to crawl out the window.

"Who are you talking to?"

"Talking to? Uh..." I brace myself against his massive frame and push. Guess what? He doesn't budge an inch.

I take a step back, glaring at him viciously. "Leave!" I mouth, and I think it's pretty clear what I'm trying to convey.

He just frowns at me and shakes his head, thick black eyebrows tapering into a V.

"_Please leave_?"

He grins, crossing his arms over his bare chest, muscle moving under bronzed skin. Oh, go eat a power bar you steroid abuser.

I hear the steps of my mother, ascending the stairs in that achingly slow way only she has. My brothers thunder up the stairs like bison, sometimes even assisting themselves with hands on the stairs in front of them, and my dad takes quick, tap-tap-tap little steps, like walking on tiptoe. My dog, being a quadruped, makes clunkety-clunkety-clickety-clack noises, like tying a few styrofoam balls together and rolling them down a bumpy hill, or like a rain stick. My mother climbing stairs is like that scene with the jell-o in Jurassic Park. Every step is an ominous mini-quake, forewarning of her fearsome presence.

"My _mother_ is-"

"Sweetie, I'm coming in..." I can almost hear her take a steadying breath. "Are you...decent?" Subtext: were you engaging in disgusting sexual activity?

"The answer to that is an _emphatic_ no."

"O-kaay..." The door creaks open and in comes She Who Hath Read Too Many Parenting Books And Is Attempting To Use Me As A Test Subject. Wearing what she seems to consider a business suit, consisting of a form-hiding purple tank-top with same color purple pants, made of the same breezy fabric, and a jacket of the exact same said breezy purple fabric. Which is still strange to me, because my mother tends to favor gardening shirts and quotes from authors about libraries when it comes to casual wear.

A pang of fear runs through me, and I prepare myself for a stare that says it all. Jacob, thankfully, has uncrossed his arms and is looking at me coldly, as if he's a perfect stranger (hang on...).

"Oh." My mother, it must be said, does not exactly look surprised by the Fracking Huge Dude in my bedroom. "And...who is this? Hello."

I love my parents. They never assume things.

"Er, mom, this is...Jacob..." Jacob offers my mother a polite smile. "Hi."

"Hello, Jacob. Er, Sara?"

"He..." I exchange a frenzied glance with him. "He says that he lost a dog, so, he was asking me, you know, if I knew where it was...and I didn't."

"...oh." The 'oh' says it all. Flaws with Sara's master lie:

1) The dude's shirtless. No one goes shirtless in Montana during mosquito season without smelling like the entire container of bug spray.

2) Why would a perfect stranger show up in the teenage daughter's bedroom, unannounced, and start shouting at her just because he's looking for his dog?

3) Again, I bring up the shirtless point. That's bound to lead her in a certain direction. I'm just glad that that one is even more out of the question.

4) I didn't feel the need to alert my mother to this situation.

"Well, that was a couple of days ago. Sara has been, uh, helping me look for him."

"Your dog?"

"Yeah. Look, I'm really sorry about the shouting, it's just that this was a really special...dog, to me. Really, really sorry."

"Ah. Well, I do hope you find your dog. We have an afghan hound, maybe he can help you. Yo's got a great nose for finding other dogs." She smiles.

"Yo?"

"It's short for Johanne. You know, like Bach," I mutter, already resigned to the 'Sara, I know you think you know what you're doing, but are you seeing this boy?' conversation. And I'll tell her the truth, and she'll look over her glasses with her round face and round nose and give me that look with her plain brown eyes that says she won't believe me until I tell her what she already thinks is right.

"Oh. Neat." Jacob tries out another awkward smile, meanwhile giving me a look that says _I didn't know you had a DOG!_ I assume this is a bad thing.

"So..." my mother clears her throat. "I have to be going soon. If you don't mind, Jacob, may I borrow my daughter for a moment?"

He gives a short, awkward laugh instead of an answer, because it wasn't really a question.

My fate sealed with a wax stamp, I follow my mother out the room. If this were a neat li'l story, my mother would have somehow conveniently not heard the shouting, or she'd be one of those mothers that doesn't care about her children, or she'd only exist as an obstacle to make the story more interesting.

No, see, if this were a story, Jacob would be Perfect Boy and he'd imprint on me and it'd be some random whirlwind romance or something.

I gotta go easy on the literature. No more vampire romance novels for Sara!

"Sara,"

"Yeah."

"Sara, I want you to look at me." We're going to have a staring contest now. My mother is under the impression that if she looks at me long enough, I'll just randomly snap. No, no, she'll say something rude, call me bitchy (this happens when I'm being especially antisocial, and yes, in retrospect, I deserved it), then come back half an hour later after I don't care anymore, hug me and ask to be my friend. I was of the belief that mothers did not act like this. I was horribly wrong.

"Yeah?"

"Now, be honest, Sara, what's going on? Is this young man your boyfriend?"

"NO! Mom, I'm fourteen, not stupid. Who dates when they're fourteen years old? You can't even call it dating. It's just friendship with a title to draw attention to yourselves." Hey, I may not go to public school, but I go to camp. What, if you spend time alone with a member of the opposite sex, all of a sudden you're 'dating'? It's ridiculous.

"Have you not heard my ranting?"

She sighs. "Listen, sweetie, you say that now, but I know that one day you're going to meet someone and your perspective will change. I just want you to be safe-"

"Mom, I'm not some air-headed, mall-shopping, instant-messaging, gossipy bimbo. Give me some credit! I can take care of myself, okay? You let me walk around in the forest."

"I know, but- oh, Sara." She groans. "Sara, this is different than going on _walks_."

"I know, mom. But I can honestly say I don't think about him like that, and even if I did, I wouldn't do anything about it." Fourteen years old and doesn't feel anything when a pretty, muscular guy walks around shirtless in my bedroom. I, personally, am proud of myself for only caring about fictional characters that way.

She looks at me carefully. "You don't have to lie to me, Sara."

"Wh- Mom!" I groan. "I'm not lying! I swear! You raised me with too much guilt to openly lie!"

She sighs. "Alright. Alright. I'm going to trust you on this one. I'm going to trust you. I have to go. Just don't disappoint me, okay?"

"Yeah, mom. Okay." Now comes the 'let's be friends' hug. Ready?

Here it comes. Here it comes.

...

Theeere it is.

XXX

"Hey! Off!" I slap his hand away. "There is a specific tea making _ritual_, and you do not _know _it."

Jake looks at me with a 'are you _kidding_ me?' expression. "Tea making...ritual."

"Yes."

"What are you, a one-person cult?"

"Maybe. I dunno. Wanna join?"

He makes a face. "I'm not big on tea."

"You will be." I grin, fetching down another parabola-sloped mug, setting the ceramic down with a satisfying clunk, pouring the rest of the boiling hot water into it and bomb-diving a tea bag in.

"What is that?"

"Jasmine tea. My mom felt the need to buy a jumbo pack." I shrug, watching the tannins of the leaves stain the water brown.

"This is the ritual?"

"What? No." I travel to the fridge, my bare feet smacking the wooden floor of the kitchen, opening up the freezer. Taking out an ice cube tray, I crack it on the table, popping out a couple of cubes, plopping one in each mug.

"So...you put ice cubes in them."

"That's a tiny part of it, you prude. You've just never had teen-friendly tea."

"Let me guess, now you add crack."

I frown. "Crack what?"

"You know...crack."

"It's a noun now?"

"What are you talking about?"

"What are _you_ talking about?" I reply, watching the ice dissolve into the steaming liquid, inhaling the vapor. The ice cracks and snaps and fizzes in one area with some frozen in air bubbles.

"Cr-ack..." He says it again, slower.

"Listen, if you enunciate that doesn't mean I know what it is."

"Crack? Really?"

"Again, still clueless here." He blinks absently. This is bugging me. Maybe I'll look it up in a dictionary.

"It's...like...slang...for a drug."

"What drug?"

"...marijuana..."

"Oh, okay." Ooh, druggy boy! I could mock him, but I'll only do it mentally and make him feel like he's the ignoramus for even knowing that.

"What now?"

"Soy milk."

"...soy milk." I stare at him.

"Yes. It's like _milk_. But from _soy_."

"I know what soy milk is."

"Then why'd you say it like that?"

"Are you vegan?"

"No."

"Then why soy milk?" I stick up the fridge door, and it opens with a satisfying sucking sound as I grab the rectangular container.

"Because...because that's just how it's _done_. Don't question the ritual!"

"How very like other religions..."

"Shut up." I poke him with the corner of the box before pouring enough milk into each mug to turn the drinks a milky beige that's about as noncolor as you can get without going grey.

"Ew. Now it looks gross."

"Now the sugar." I say, sliding the jar towards me and putting a good three heaping spoonfuls in each cup.

"Wow, enough calories there?"

"This from he who just ate like a week's worth of mac 'n cheese."

"Hey. I'm a wolf. I get an excuse." I still get a little thrill when he mentions things like that nonchalantly. This guy is a frickin' _wolf_. A _werewolf_ is about to drink my tea. A werewolf.

"Pff. Drink." I shove the mug towards him, and he accepts it without wincing at the temperature of the hardened clay (two points for wolf man).

"Go on. Promise, no poison." Just be glad I didn't give him some sweet birch tea.

That stuff is _good_.

He lifts it to his mouth, sipping the almost-white noncolor stuff. After swallowing, he runs his tongue across his teeth, like he can still taste it there.

"Hmm..."

"Well?"

"Well...for tea, I guess, it's okay."

"Oh, it's good and you know it. You just won't admit you like tea!"

"So?"

"Shallow!" I wrinkle my nose at him. "You nasty little ninny! Bad person!"

"For a tea-"

"Icky!"

"What-"

"SAR! Did you see my wallet?" The front door slams shut.

"Uh- S-"

Jacob looks at me, alarmed. "What-"

"Shh!"

"What?"

Taking the mug from his hands, I put it next to mine, dragging him by way of Arm to the back door, his large feet scraping the flat carpet.

"It's my brother Sam! My mom is normal, he is _not._"

"What do you mean?"

I stare at him very, very seriously for a second.

"Trust me when I say you don't want to find out."


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

"So your brother's name is Sam, huh?"

I half-groan. "Jacob," I hiss. "This is _so_ not the time for small talk!"

"I'm not small talking. I just think it's cool. You know, I know a Sam."

"Well, guess what, there's a Jacob in the Bible and you don't see me blabbing about it. Now shut up and don't make me swear."

Without waiting for an answer, I lock the mud hall door and try to make it back to the kitchen without being noticed.

Sam's already there. He's a pretty big guy, considering that everyone in my family tends to run short and wide (which results in attractive males and...not-so-much females), and he also seems to think that he's a tough guy. News for you, bro: YOU'RE NOT INTIMIDATING ANYBODY.

He's got his arms folded, a swath of dark hair over his eyes, and his leather jacket (I know. I _know_.) is stained from the rain outside. He stills smells faintly of gasoline and tar from the highway. He rides a motorcycle. I hate that. Somehow, he runs with the only 'bad-ass' (excuse my French) crowd in northeastern Montana. By 'bad' I mean switching the sugar and salt, putting toads in the nanny's tea sort of bad. Well, not literally, but you get the idea.

"Hey Sam. What's up?"

"You seen my wallet?"

"No."

"Mom home?"

"No."

He frowns. "Hey, why's there two cups? Got company?" I stiffen. Great, the one time in his life he decides to be observant and he notices the two cups of tea.

Lie lie lie lie lie lie!

"No. The other one is, uh, for you. I boiled too much water, and I figured maybe I'd just make you some."

He laughs, and it comes out like a snarl. "When you _misuse _resources you're _supposed_ to just save it for _later_. Shouldn't you know that?"

I dig my fingernails into my palms. When my brothers were my age, they argued with my mom a lot. So now, I stifle my anger with privately clenched fists and taught muscles, faces made behind doors, screaming pillows and punching couches, breaking pencils when nobody is around to hear it. I guess I really hated to hear my family yelling at each other when I was a little kid. It scared me. So I deal with things like my brothers condescension quietly and with little dignity.

I know I'm letting myself be walked over, but really, it's easier this way. I hate arguing just to defend myself.

"Oh."

He smirks.

"So, do you need anything else?" I'm eager to get him out of here.

"Nah. Me and the guys are just gonna...uh, never mind." You see that, that planned broken-off sentence there? It's to imply that he's doing cool-guy things that he can't tell his little sister about.

Yeah, well, same to you, punk.

And you're not that cool.

And I have a werewolf in the mud hall, so I win.

"Hello!"

...

Oh, bloody stinkin' HELL.

Jacob, get back in your box. NOW.

How did he even-

That door better still be on its hinges.

"Who the fuck are you?"

What is this teenage obsession with obscenity? Argh.

"I'm the fuck Jake! Nice to meet you."

And now is when I quietly...back...away...

Jacob has his arms folded over his chest, mimicking Sam's position and pulling it off with much more grace. Okay, so this is not the Sam he knows.

"Sara, what the hell is going on here?"

"Um, Jake is my friend. From...penpals."

He pauses. "Seriously, though."

Oh, that's true, I should probably stick to a consistent lie.

"He lost his dog."

"Puppy."

"Right, puppy." Jake smiles at Sam, who crosses his arms tighter over his chest and causes his jacket to squeak.

"You lost your dog?"

"Yep."

"How come I've never seen you round here before?"

"Just visiting. Aunt and uncle live near here."

"Then why're you here?"

"I thought I saw my dog. She's helping me look."

...backing...away...

"Really."

"Really! You wanna help me look?" Sam pauses, taking a step back.

"Naw. I'm good. I've gotta go." God forbid you do anything to...I don't know, HELP anyone else.

Sam un-squeaks his jacket, heading for the door. "I guess I must have left my wallet at Wes's place or something."

Right before he leaves, he turns back.

"Oh, yeah, and Mom says we're moving."

A/N: Weeeeee. I'm enjoying MYself today. Haa. (said in a smooth n' smarmy talk-show-radio-host voice): and today on Emotion Thief, completely unsolicited and unexplained drama, for no apparent reason tacked on the end of an otherwise, boring chapter. Thank you, and good night. The fish was delish, and it made quite a dish.


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

"Hello-oo!" my mother calls from the front hall.

Jacob left a couple of hours ago, said if I insisted on not feeding him then he'd feed himself. I don't really want to know what he meant.

"Mom?"

"Yes Sara?" She comes into the room, her industrial-sized purse slung over her shoulder in such a way that it seems like she's expecting to be mugged. Yeah. In Montana.

Though I guess not for long?

"Uhm...Sam said we're moving. So..." I raise my eyebrows, my question going unspoken.

"What?" She sighs. "Oh, that boy. He wasn't supposed to say it like that."

"But...we're moving?"

"Well, I'd hoped to discuss it with you first, but everything is just about set." My mother smiles that little 'this is happening, Sara, and nothing is to be done about it' smile. Beautiful.

Hang on. This is the part where, if my life was a movie (which would require exciting things to happen), it would be paused and the narrator would go on a wee bit of a tangent.

WE'RE MOVING?! Gah! Sweet! Anywhere would be better than here! As long...as long as it isn't in the south, because I like trees and snow, and hopefully there will still be trees, but whatever, I'll take what I can get, WE'RE MOVING!

Maybe I'll go to a real school? I've never been to a real school! Gah! I wonder if it's anything like how movies and books portray it.

"So...where...where to?"

Mom's smile gets wider, and the next words out of her mouth make it sound like absolute heaven.

"Northern Idaho!"

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

WHAT?! Are you _kidding me_?! I wait fourteen years to be let out of this place, and we move to quite possibly the ONLY place that is more boring? What's from Idaho? You know what's from Idaho? The only thing from Idaho?

POTATOES!! POTATOES ARE FROM FRICKIN' IDAHO!!

..._GAH!_

We were supposed to move to a...a sexy state and stuff! A big city like from Wicked Lovely! Or maybe to Europe! I'd love to be the foreign kid in Europe! IDAHO IS NOT SEXY! Come on, New York or Arizona or California or something. Even Boston. Even Florida! ARGH!

Okay, okay, look at the bright side: at least it's not Wyoming.

"...Idaho, huh?"

"Yes, your father got a job there as a dean at a university. We're moving to Coeur d'Alene. It seems very interesting. Why, it's even got the Coeur d'Alene Indian Reservation!"

**_END OF...PART ONE, OR SOMETHING. WHATEVER._**

((-three months later-))

A/N: I'm not so much into the drawing out of things when I have stuff to do. DUDE. Hang on: I just came up with this from Seventh Sanctum in the random names generator: Prince Jc Meadows. Oh. My God. HA!!

"Wow. Um, high school. That's intimidating."

"Ah, relax, freshman year is easy." Jake grins at me from the window of my new room.

"It is?"

"Well, the first day is."

"But...I'm coming in in the middle of the year."

"Oh. Well, you're just screwed then, huh?"

"Shut up, stalker."

"I am not a stalker!"

"You followed me from Montana to Idaho. You're a stalker. A creepy stalker."

"I'm a devoted friend."

"Fine, you're a creepy _devoted_ stalker with nothing better to do than to stalk teenagers." He grins, kerplunking down on the floor and crossing his legs.

So, guess what, I was totally right about Idaho. It's sunny sometimes, but it rains a lot, which is good, and it turns out that I'm not even close to the reservation and that there aren't any werewolves on said reservation. Jake checked it out while I was unpacking. If you ask my mother, Jake just so happens to live in Idaho. Very near us. Oh, what a strange coincidence that is!

I still don't actually know that much about where he comes from. Washington, yeah, on the coast. When I heard that bit, I asked him about the ocean. I've never seen the ocean. I mean, I've seen pictures, and movies, but I just can't fathom something so big you can't see the end of it, if it's on Earth. Something with absolutely no points of reference or anything, just a...well, a sea of flat. How strange.

When I told him I'd never seen the ocean, Jacob just gave me this blank look.

"You've...never seen the ocean?"

"This just in: Montana declared a land-locked state!"

"You've...never...seen...the ocean?"

"No, that's why I keep saying it."

"But...it's the _ocean_."

"Yeah, if you just keep saying that, that doesn't mean I've seen it."

That was a fun hour.

Sighing, I tug down on my shirt. There's just no fixing it. I'm a stocky, well-built person with a little extra padding, and a too-big chest, which is apparently something people want even though I can't see why because no clothing fits me. Today I've gone for a black t-shirt and a blue Henley thing over it. I guess, if I'm going for that human-log look, it's okay. I mean, my waist is partially visible, kind of.

Oh, jeez, listen to me. I'm turning into some appearance-obsessed idiot. AH REFUSE TO CONFOIM!

Erm.

"Uh...I hate to ask this, Jake..."

"What?" He stands up, being way too bloody tall.

"Do I...you know...look okay?"

He fakes a gasp. "Sara...caring about how you look? How completely un-like you!"

I groan. "Jake."

He comes over, crossing his arms over his chest. I regard myself in the mirror, and see his reflection come and put his chin on the top of my reflection's head. I feel heat permeate from his head to mine.

"You look fine."

"Promise?"

"Quit stressing."

"I've never been to school before! For anything! Ever!"

"Yeah." He snorts. "I wish I was going with you." He walks away, plopping down on my bed.

I wish you were going with me too. I need somebody I know.

"You...you still have to go back. Won't your friends be looking for you?" I sit next to him, place my hand on his. He looks at this for a second, my pale little limb on his huge brown one.

His eyes meet mine.

"Yeah. But...I don't really want to. Not yet. Not if...I can still smell _them_ there."

Again, a pang of curiosity rings through me. Them who? One of them is named Edward. That's not really a clue I can base a lot off of.

Unexpectedly, and rather uncharacteristically for me, I lean in and hug Jake. He pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me, and it feels like he buries his face in my neck.

"I can't face it yet. Can't I stay for a little while longer?" His voice is muffled in my hair, but I understand him well enough.

"Yeah, buddy. Yeah. You can stay a little while longer."

I think I'll need you for a little while longer.

XXX

Wow, school is weird. Coeur d'Alene High School is, I guess, no different than you'd expect a high school to be. It's made of brick, and is on the whole rectangular, with jutting edges and random squares poking off in unexpected places, the entrance guarded by a flat roof.

But the school itself isn't what interests me. The kids, by God! What are these people wearing? It seems like some of them have literally just rolled out of bed, mostly the girls. They wear pajama pants and these puffy, fluffy, sheepskin boots that look more like tall slippers, really. A lot of t shirts have witty little sayings on them, and most of them I don't understand. Things in rhinestone lettering like 'Saw It - Want It - Got It' and 'Whatever' are emblazoned on the fronts of some of them.

I see one girl wearing a light blue sweatshirt. I can't quite make out the embroidered letters, because the second word is in only a slightly darker blue than the garment itself, but the first word is 'baby'. The second word looks like 'oink'. Ha! Baby oink! Apparently this girl finds these t shirt sayings as ridiculous and conformist as I do, and has chosen to portray her view on our consumerist society by wearing-

Oh, wait, the second word is 'girl'. 'Baby girl'. Ugh.

The guys tend to either wear blank t shirts or ones with 'funny' sayings like 'I'm out of bed, I'm dressed, what more do you want?' Oh, yes, short little blond kid, that's absolutely HILARIOUS. I'm laughing. SO HARD. Truly, a reflection on the human condition.

"Alrighty then, Ms. Ellison." The secretary currently manning the office hands me a schedule.

"Now, you'll have a school guide for today. Just one of the kids. Uh..." She looks down at her computer monitor, clicks a couple of times.

"Tristan Webster. He's locker 162, that'll be on the second floor. Have fun today!"

Yeah, that'll happen. Great, of course I get the guy named 'Tristan'. Beautiful. How about a name that, I dunno, COULDN'T only belong to a knight?

XXX (A/N: Yeah, I know, something similar happens in Night Cycle, but it's NOT THE SAME THING!)

"Uh...look, I'm sorry, I don't mean to bother you..."

Tristan turns around from his locker. Well, I didn't expect that. He's got sort of a delicate look. A very pointed face, his nose and his chin. He wears sunglasses, and I don't think he has bad eyesight, so they must just be for show. I can't, however, see his eyes because of this, and it's very disconcerting.

He takes off his baseball cap, and I am surprised that he was ever wearing one, because he certainly doesn't look the type. He's pale and thin, almost gangly, but not unattractively so. He wears black jeans, and a white shirt, his shirttails hanging out and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal skinny, muscular arms. His hair is black and shiny, coming to little points all around his head the way that my curly hair forms locks. They look like arrows down his face.

"Yes?" I still can't see his eyes, but I can feel the heat of his judgmental gaze, and I resist the urge to squirm.

"You're...um, Tristan?"

"I am. Do you need something?"

"Yeah. I'm Sara. You're my...school...guide..." I trail off at the end there. I'm not in my territory.

Once again, here comes the shocking news: I've never been in a school before. And high schools are BIG. I kind of need this guy, even though he looks like he should be in an alternative rock band. Oh, yeah, I could swoon over how good he looks, but I've never been very affected by that stuff.

"Really?" He takes a step closer, a smile playing at his stone white mouth, his hand going up to perch on the arm of his glasses.

"Yeah. I mean, I just need you to show me..."

"Well that's interesting," he whispers, almost too low for me to hear.

I resist the urge to say 'no, not really'.

He pulls his glasses down so that they perch on his nose, and I can see his eyes.

I almost stop breathing.

He has long, thick, dark lashes, adding to his delicate quality, but that's not why. His eyes...

They're orange. Mostly red, but like someone added in a slap dash of gold in there. Like fire.

I can't say anything for a minute. Almost against my own will, I can't speak.

"What is it, Sara?"

I gulp. Fire. Just like fire.

He smiles apologetically, sliding his glasses back up his knows. "My eyes. Yes. It is a...genetic mutation." His smile grows wider, almost predatory. "It runs in my family."

"Your whole family has...has..."

"Well, my brother and I." He winks. "I never knew my parents."

This might sound ridiculous, but I feel my jaw start to quiver of its own accord, my legs bend underneath me.

"Come on, now, let's see..." he takes my schedule from my hand. "My goodness, it looks like we both happen to have physics for our first block."

He looks at me again, his long, white fingers playing over his glasses arm again, like he plans to show me his eyes. He seems to decide better. He lights his hand on my arm, a beautiful smile and a dangerous glint to it lighting his face. I'm so desperately in shock, his fingers feel as cold as metal in winter.

A/N: I know, I know, I know. Mock me at will, youngins. And older-ins.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Whoa whoa whoa whoa, calm down there. I have excuses. One: Monday was Night Cycle updating day (yay!). Two: Tuesday I lost power for a while, didn't get it back until WAY late. Today: You know what? Just...UGH. Long story.

They release us at two thirty. Is that usual? I guess so. I mean, Wednesday, of all the days, doesn't seem like the day that it would stand out.

Bloody heck, did you know that Idaho got heat waves? It was never this hot in northern Montana.

Oh, fantastic, now I sound like a nostalgic old guy. "When I was a youngin', we never had summers like this!" Honestly.

So anyways. Guess what? Guess!

No, sorry, you're wrong, you fail.

I found out the other thing! I might have to do a little jig.

Okay, so I don't exactly know what Tristan is, but I know he's something. He's got orange eyes! He's pale! He's antisocial! Do we have a winner? Ding ding ding!

...look, it's like ninety-eight degrees outside with humidity. I'm a little loopy.

"Hey, Sara," Jake shouts, waiting by the bike rack, arms crossed. And I'd be lying if I wasn't a little happy about the stares he's getting, and the ones I'm getting because of that.

"Hey Jake!" I practically flounce up to him.

I don't own any shorts, so I've just rolled my jeans up to knee-level. Look, either in Montana it's tick season and you shouldn't be wearing shorts, or it's winter. My normally loose pants are sticking to my thighs, adhered by sweat, the air I breath feels like water in my mouth, like I'm hovering over the steam of a boiling pot.

"Wow, you're happy today."

I take a couple steps closer, letting his werewolf nose do the rest of the job for me.

He frowns for a second; I feel my heart rate go up.

'Where did you meet a (insert creature name here)?' And then I'll know what it is. I just _know _it.

He sniffs the air.

"You smell like...um..."

"What?" I ask hurriedly.

"Sweat."

"...sweat?"

"Yeah. You know, sweat, BO."

Body odor? I spent the day with a mythical creature and all you have for me is 'body odor'?

"Is that all?"

"That I can smell from here, yeah, the only obvious thing. I bet if I went creepy and started sniffing your hair or your arm or something I'd come up with something else."

Maybe sweat covers up the other smell. I take another step closer, hoping he's downwind. Upwind. Whichever way is the wind blowing from me to him to carry my smell over there.

Well, wait, there is no breeze right now whatsoever.

"How about now?"

He laughs, shaking his head, starting for the sidewalk.

I hurry to catch up to him, watching hopefully. Maybe he can't talk about the whatever-it-is because of all of the children passing by us.

Did you know that apparently Hollister is some über-popular brand of clothing for no apparent reason whatsoever? Their logo is a seagull. And Abercrombie's logo is a moose, and American Eagle's is probably an eagle. So, this is my theory: it's either whatever animal they had to kill to make way for their first store becomes the logo, or it's so we can remember these majestic animals after they've gone extinct due to our practices.

Go America!

"Lessee...uhm, shampoo..."

"What kind of shampoo?"

"The cheap kind."

"Darn you. What else?"

He pauses. Oh, hang on, maybe kids were staring at him because he's not wearing a shirt and he's sweating. And looking like the cover of a cheap romance novel.

Pansy. Sweating visibly. I'm just generally shiny.

"Am I smelling for something in particular?"

I throw my hands up in the air. "Yes!"

"What?"

"You don't-" I shove my wrist in his face, the hand that Tristan held when he was dragging me towards my next class. "You don't smell _anything_ weird? At _all_?"

He takes a long whiff, running his nose up and down along my palm.

"No, sorry. Another kid, I guess, and some of his pheromones. That's it."

"And this kid, nothing weird about _him_?"

He releases my arm, raising his eyebrows as we turn the next corner, walking past a thick forest. Not as thick as the ones in Montana. We have really big trees. Five men couldn't fit their arms around some of the trunks. Idaho has baby forests.

"No," he narrows his eyes. "Why? Should there be?"

"Are you _sure_?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely, completely, totally sure?"

"Really, why?"

"Well I thought..." I rub my arm awkwardly. "I mean, I thought that...you know...that he was...the other thing."

"Why?"

"He had...pale skin...and...weird eyes..."

"Weird how?"

"They were orange..."

He freezes, staring at me.

"Did you do your soul thing?"

"Yes."

"And?"

I pause. "It was...confused. Colorful. Like how you were sort of...pillars, this was the same. But they were like a giant Rubik's cube, everything shifting and changing all the time, trying to match bits to other bits."

"Definitely nothing but human, then."

"What? Why?"

He laughs, tugging me into the forest along one of the paths. Tiny green clovers dot every patch of available sunlight, ferns creating a fuller prairie underneath the trees.

"Doesn't that sound like a typical confused hormonal teenager?"

"You weren't like that."

"I know where I belong," he counters.

"But you aren't there," I say quietly. He tenses.

"That's not really the point. The point is..." he trails off, leading me further down the vague path.

"The point is...is...how orange were this guy's eyes?"

"Um..."

"Well?"

"They were kind of...tiger orange?"

"Meaning brown-orange."

"Well..."

"Like slightly off-beige orange."

"When you say it like that-"

"Meaning you just went completely melodramatic about all this because you wanted it to be something, when really he's just a pale guy with funny eyes."

"But-"

He rolls his eyes. "You know, I'm not surprised?" He laughs. "Not _at all_ surprised!"

"Quit teasing!" I reply eloquently, putting into use all of my hard-learned decorous vocabulary and trying to punch him in the face. Jokingly, of course. I mean, I'm not _stupid_.

He ducks.

"Hey! Get back here!" I shout as he runs behind a tree.

A few seconds later, I hear a sort of...you know, ripping sound. Like, say, maybe there's a guy behind there, I dunno, turning into a wolf or something.

Soon I see the creature burst out from behind the tree, bark a greeting towards me, and run off in the direction of my house.

Stupid werewolf. I'ma find out one of these days.

A/N: So, that was kind of a nothing of a chapter, and if you have any questions, ask. Yeah, it sucked, what's your point?

What's that? You thought Tristan was a vampire? Silly children. Sorry, sorry, just kidding.

Leave a review if you hate/love/are indifferent towards/somewhere in the happy medium/whatever me!

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

A/N: I have no clue what's going on with this story. No, really, no idea what's going to happen. I'd appreciate suggestions. In da meantime, this chapter was inspired by something that IH8Abbreviations said, and recent events in my real life which, though slowly being starved, does in fact exist.

"Please, remind me why it is that we're here."

"Because all of my shirts and shorts and hand-me-downs from my brothers, and therefore all date back to like the mid-90s."

"Fine, why did I come?"

"Um..." Because I have no friends.

We're at a Target (yes, Idaho has Targets), because I'm cheap as all bloody hell, and guess what? Apparently I have a fantastically irregular body shape. I mean, I already knew that, but still. Guys, come on, not all girls are tall, skinny and flat-chested. Everything either already looks like one of my brother's shirts does on me, or attempts to accentuate my cleavage which is NOT something I want to do, or that I can do without looking like...well, never mind. I mean, maybe if, again, I were flat-chested, but I'm not, therefore: Sara can't buy clothing at Target.

Oh yeah, or something has stripes. Guess what stripes do? Accentuate your curves.

Again, not something I particularly want to do.

Hey, we're all girls here, right? Yeah. I know you're cringing.

This store has an impossibly high ceiling. I wonder if birds nest up there.

Jake shuffles awkwardly behind me as I shuffle awkwardly forward, rifling through racks of clothes. The on-sale rack, to be specific. Yes, there is an on-sale rack at Target. I told you. I'm cheap.

Blue tracksuit with teal racing stripes. Um, no.

Something black and shiny with sequins. I don't even know what article of clothing it is, and I don't care.

A skirt that looks about the same height as my underwear. Actually, I think I saw some more popular girls wearing stuff like this...

Oh, look, one of those 'whatever!' t-shirts with rhinestones.

A sky-blue shirt with pink, yellow and white stars boasts 'Daddy's Little Girl', another one behind it has an indecently low v-neck.

That's another thing: what's with the boob-boasting, fellas? The fabric around that area is scrunched, tightened, eyelet-ed, low-cut, pushing up...I mean ew, man.

"Ooh, I like this. Buy this one," Jake says, grinning at me. I look down at the atrocity held in his hand, some strange and foreign creature with fake fur and zebra stripes, it looks to be a jacket, or maybe...no, it better be a jacket. Still, that doesn't make it much better.

"Aah!" I screech. Not too loudly, though. "Get that thing away from me! It's carnivorous!"

He laughs. "What? This?" He shoves it into my face. Little plastic hairs tickle my nose.

"Gah! What the crudzorp, dude?"

"I'm evil. What's your excuse?"

"I _will_ put my dog's electric fence collar around your neck. And padlock it. And then I'll swallow the key like a pill."

"Hey now." He grins and pulls the hideous offense away from my face.

"I wonder how many stuffed animals they had to kill to get that thing."

"Oh, the standard is about ten or twenty," I reply as he re-hooks it onto the metal bar via hanger. He looks up at me, a quieter smile on his face.

"You are a lot more fun to shop with than my sisters."

I pause. Then, finally, "You have sisters?"

"Yeah. Two."

"Oh," is all I can manage to say. It's moments like this that remind me how little I know about him. It's almost...well, I don't quite know what it is. It makes me...a little sad, I suppose, that I can see all the inner working of his soul and not understand what it means.

As he stares at me, I can tell he's feeling the same sort of almost-remorse. Over the last couple of months, it's turned out that each emotion tastes different, and each taste is different for someone else. Anger might be salt for one person and copper for another, excitement orange in a friend and lemon in a parent.

Now it's like drinking vanilla or eating a spoonful of cinnamon; somehow, this fools you into thinking that it's a good feeling right up until it reaches your mouth, it can be confused easily with anticipation like the steady climb up the hill of a roller coaster. But it's not the same at all. I taste chocolate, unsweetened baking chocolate that leaves a clammy, hot feel in my mouth and that burns my throat.

I've got a pillar. It's got my name on it. I can feel it, sometimes, when he sleeps over (on my roof). He's not quite so guarded when he's asleep.

I try and feel it again now, wedging my way in between the cracks in his armor. Everyone has cracks, some are fewer and smaller, some people have gaping holes, but everyone has them. Even me.

So I wiggle myself in, surveying the almost-chaos that is, by now, so many not-colors it feels like a hallucination. My pillar doesn't really have a name. It's just got sort of an...imprint on it, it's a little shorter and smaller and a little bit more confused, and separate like it's been surrounded by a tiny barbed-wire fence. So not distanced from everything else, just...well, separate. I can't even describe it to myself.

The colors dance in and away from each other, whirling numbly.

"Please don't, Sar."

"Sorry." I pull out so fast, I stumble; he catches my arm. "Thanks."

He just nods and lets go. "I didn't mean to scare you or anything, you know. It was just that..."

"No no, yeah, I know. I didn't mean...I mean, I didn't either..."

"Yeah. Yeah I know. I...yeah."

Awkward silence ensues.

"Excuse me," the voice of a Polish woman grates my ears. "Do you have de time?"

A quick glance at my watch. "One forty-five," I tell her with a smile.

"Tank you," she smiles back before hobbling away.

I turn back to Jake.

"So anyways."

He laughs, slinging his arm over my shoulder.

"Okay. Awkward silence time is over now."

"Oh, but dearest Jacob, it's _always_ awkward silence time!"

XXX

"Uhm...kay, how about this?" I step out of the changing room.

If this were a chatroom, Jake would be an ellipse: "..."

But instead, he just shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "I don't know. It's nice I guess."

"'It's nice I guess'," I say mockingly, making my voice deeper and dumber.

"What do you want me to say? I don't exactly pay attention to what you wear."

"Is that even a good thing?"

He shrugs again. "It's the truth. I dunno."

"Right. Um.." I look down at the white shirt, decorated with flying birds.

"Oh, eff this. I'm going to buy some plain t shirts from LL Bean. Screw it." I stalk back into the dressing room.

XXX

"Lemme just dump this in my room and then we can go bike or something."

Jake coughs. "Well, you can bike, I kind of need to...um...stretch my legs."

He looks at me meaningfully.

"You mean-" I consciously think about my mother upstairs. "Oh, right. I'll get Johanne then. Go to the woods."

He quirks an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Keep making that face, I'll shoot you with a rhino tranquilizer and you'll wake up neutered."

He just laughs and pulls me by the arm to the mud hall to get Yo's faded purple leash. "It's just," he begins, hooking the choke chain to the leash.

"I don't really think your dog can keep up with me."

"Oh please. He's an Afghan hound. They're built for speed. You," I give him a judgmental, harsh once-over. He grins under my gaze.

"You're built like a bloody giant _tank_. It's like a cheetah versus a horse. If the cheetah had as much stamina as a horse."

"Oh, so-"

Jake's soon-to-be rant is cut short when the phone rings. I hurry over to the wall that it's been hung on, shifting the plastic chord phone out of the holster and holding it between my ear and my shoulder as I adjust the choke chain, making sure the loops are situated right.

"Hello?"

A voice, male and gruff but frenzied: "Jake?! Is that you?!"

I pause. "No, I'm sorry," I make eye contact with Jake. He looks at me, puzzled. "This is Sara. Are you sure you've got the right number? This is the Ellison residence."

"Do you know a guy named Jake?"

"Jake?" I ask questioningly.

Jake's eyes widen, he steps towards the phone. When I start to offer it to him, he shakes his head furiously, just motioning me to hold the phone so he can hear it too.

There's a notepad by the phone.

_Should I tell them I know you?_

He reads it, shakes his head, holds up a finger to signify that he wants to hear this person's voice first.

"I'm sorry. There's a kid at our school, Jake Levvy, maybe that's who you mean?"

"No, I mean Jacob Black. Apparently his cellphone..." the guy continues to explain that Jake's cell was found in Montana, and that through a 'series of events' he was traced here. I'm guessing that's vague enough that this person or his friends followed Jake's scent. So, another wolf.

Jacob listens intently, frowning. Finally he takes the pen from my hand, leaning over to write on the pad:

_Embry? I could be wrong, it sound like him.  
_

I roll my eyes. Yeah, because if you write down his name I'll know who he is, right?

He smiles apologetically and shrugs, gesturing for the phone to be handed over.

I sigh; it sounds like crackled paper over the phone connection.

"Is this Embry?"

"Wh- how did you..."

Wordlessly, I hand the receiver to Jake.

"Em?"

He almost smiles as he hears the other guy's voice; I feel a plethora of emotions from him. This time I don't take any away, because he doesn't need pain dulled or anger lessened. Happiness for him is like the taste of the air after it rains, worry like thick sap and a tinge of regret, like butter.

I rub my eyes and go up to my room so that I don't end up eavesdropping. Or crying in front of my only friend, whom I'm about to lose.

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

A/N: Listen, I know that you're going to ignore this, but in case you don't want to: Transistor Radio by Cloud Cult would be a nice song to listen to here. Just a thought, loveys.

_ These are things that I keep hidden in belly  
I can't see them but they control my life  
For a moment you could see right through me  
See right through me  
Help me make this right  
Look at all those skeletons running from their closets  
Get them in the light - _(part of) lyrics from 'Take Your Medicine' by Cloud Cult

I don't cry. I mean crying...it's not a thing that I do. It's just not. I haven't cried since - well, for a real long time, anyways. I think it was a couple of years ago. Oh, hang on, I remember why now. Don't worry, I'm not going to try and evoke pity by saying why. It's not that important.

So in my room, waiting for Jake to finish talking with his real friend, I just sit on my bed surrounded by half-empty boxes that still need unpacking. Yo, ever insensitive, leaps up onto the bed, wagging his tail and begging for attention.

"Aw, Yo, not now," I grumble. Nevertheless, I reach up to scratch behind his ears. Afghan hounds are, in my opinion, one of the most graceful and elegant (-ly shaped, anyway) dogs in the canine kingdom. The basic body shape is similar to that of a greyhound, with perhaps a more equine neck, and their fur is long and straight and waves like marsh grass whenever they move.

Unless, of course, they're dogs like Yo, who used to have free reign of Montana countryside and therefore came home everyday toting enough burrs and seedlings to plant a new forest. Naturally, the move has been tough on the guy because I don't trust him to run around terrorizing the suburbs of Coeur d'Alene.

"You wanna go on a walk, Yo? Hm?"

He barks.

"I bet you do. I _bet_ you do, little boy!" I coo, scratching behind his ears and trying not to think about the big wolf I did this for a few months ago.

"Just in a little while, okay boy? Promise. Oh yes I do! Promise promise!"

Yo just gives me a little growl and stretches, paws out in front of him and his butt in the air.

I hear the muffled, deep voice of Jake downstairs, taste sorrow and disbelief likely from learning about his little girlfriend's escapades since he's been gone. It's so strange that the worse emotions taste...better, almost. Sorrow is like heavy cream, the disbelief minty. And the unmistakable lust in the high school (especially during lunch when I'm near older kids) is a thick, flowery taste, intoxicating and distracting.

I don't like it. Any of it. I don't like that Jake is leaving, I don't like tasting emotions which is something that only seems to be spurred by him, I don't like going to a regular school, I don't like my adventure. I'd like to return it, exchange it, please sir. I'd like something with a circus or with faeries or goblin kings or the fight between good and evil or alternate universes. I don't want a pseudo teen tragedy. I look back at Yo.

"Come on. I'll take you for that walk now."

So I grab my backpack, a flashlight, and a box of Triscuits. I put Johanne on his leash and loop the leash around the handlebar of my bicycle, and head out on the misty road.

A/N: So...I'm getting two different inklings of ideas here. One, this can head more in a fantasy direction. Two, in can...you know, not. I'd appreciate thoughts (if you have any).

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

* * *

A/N: I'm going to go ahead and plagiarize my former self.

What do we not own?!

"SHIT!"

When do we not own it?!

"JUST ABOUT ALWAYS!"

How happy are we about this?!

"NOT VERY AT ALL, SIR YES SIR!!"

* * *

I bike for hours. Hours and hours. I turn my watch inside out; that way I can, in my mind at least, bend time however I want. The whole time, Yo runs right beside me. I stop a couple of times, just to give him some water, or to eat a couple of crackers to keep from getting too hungry.

My mom says that the problem with Montana is that you never know where you are, because all forest starts to look the same after a while. I don't think so.

Suburbs, however, are a very different story. I don't know where I am, sure, but at least I'm not thinking. All these roads look kind of the same. I'm heading mostly in a straight line, and if the little compass attached to my jacket zipper is right, I'm heading east. Towards Montana. Huh. How bout that.

Anyways, this highway sure is big. I think I remember it on the way over here, when we were driving, but it could have easily been a completely different one, because all highways look the same to me, just like suburbs all look the same to me.

I bet my mom is real worried about me. I'll call her in an hour or two. Let her know I'm fine. Maybe I'll say I'm at a friend's house. That I forgot to tell her. That would be a very me thing to do.

Yeah, I'll do that, I have my cellphone.

I keep biking forward, faster and faster, and Yo keeps up magnificently. He doesn't even look winded.

Don't think, don't think, don't think. It's so easy. The cool, misty air filters in and out of my lungs, over and over again until I feel like I'm part of the air. My legs are burning, begging me to stop, but I don't.

I can't.

My mp3 player headphones are stuffed in my ears. I'm glad it was fully charged when I put it in my pocket.

_Everybody's trying to be my villain, and  
_

_I was unaware of the vacancy._

_Some people predict bad news and hope it never happens and_

_Others are content to assume authority._

A laid-back, guitar-sy tune. Golden Shoulders. It's got this sort of 'yeah, stuff sucks, oh well', vibe. That's kind of how I'm feeling.

WWJD? Uhm, I don't think Jesus ever had a werewolf friend, Grandma's Judging Jacket Pin.

Thanks anyways.

The William Tell Overture (think Lone Ranger) interrupts my self-therapy.

"Hello?"

"Sara?! Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, where are you?! I've been worried sick!"

"Mom, I'm at my...friend's house. Karen."

"Did you take Yo?"

"Yeah. She...she has a dog." I wince. I feel so terrible for lying so blatantly. But what's my other option?

'Oh, yeah, I'm on the highway and it's twilight, I have no idea where I am, but Yo's getting exercise.'

'Oh, okay, call if you get hit by a car or abducted.'

'Okay.'

That'll happen.

"Do you need me to come pick you up? What's her phone number?"

"You can call me on my cell, Mom. I can get myself home."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Are you sleeping over?"

"I don't know. I'll call you..." I check my watch. Whoa. "Before ten o'clock, okay?"

There's a pause on the other line. My stomach turns. Maybe Jake is there, right now, telling my mom that he doesn't know of any Karen, and that if there were any other dogs around he would have smelled them or something.

"Okay, sweetie. Talk to you later."

"Bye Mom. Love you."

"I love you too."

As soon as I hang my phone up, I lean over the handlebars of my bike, taking a heaving breath. Getting away with it. I'll turn home now. I'll just start heading back.

Just wait for a break in the traffic. On a five-lane highway. Great.

(fifteen excruciating minutes later)

On the other side of the road now. Biking and biking, and Yo is beside me, and this feels right, this feels natural to just be going fast with no reason other than that I want to. Fast fast fast.

I see an exit up ahead.

Fear stabs my gut. _I don't know where I am_. I don't know how to get home. I was focusing so hard on not focusing on anything at all that I didn't note how I got on this highway.

_Oh, God._

There's no way I can get home unless I call my mom and tell her everything.

Oh God.

I'm a fourteen-year-old girl on a highway at eight thirty PM, with the sky black as pitch, and I have no idea how I'm going to get home.

And if I die or get kidnapped, Yo will too.

I'm so sorry, Yo. I am _so sorry_.

I look down at my dog. He's sat down on the side of the highway, looking at me with his big, round, innocent eyes.

"I'm so sorry," I say, this time out loud.

He snorts at me, gives an experimental, halfhearted wag of his tail. He never makes any noise or anything. I guess I'm glad about that. Never howls.

"Aroo?"

A/N: Whoops. I only just now realized the irony of Sara running away xD. Nice going, Nit.

Anyways! I'm completely shameless, so here goes: would anyone mind terribly checking out my story at fictionpress? I rather like it, personally. It's...kinda romance-y, I suppose. Not exactly. Sort of. Uhm. Fantasy, anyways, definitely fantasy. I've made my account there my homepage on my profile here, so, if anyone wants to go ahead and just be awesome and humor poor, deranged little Nitlon who's convinced myself of some type of talent, um, do, please? By the way, I recommend the website. You don't even need disclaimers. Shweet.

(To those of you reading Daymare as well: See? I really AM shameless! Yay!)

* * *


	15. Thank You Mister Card

A/N: -twitch- Did...did NOBODY understand what happened last time? Here's the summary: 'oh look I'm stuck on the side of the road, poor me, boo-hoo and all that, and here's my dog who NEVER MAKES ANY NOISE, and oh look, there's a noise right at the bottom of the page that I didn't make and that my dog didn't make which is _eerily similar if not exactly the same as the kind of noise that my werewolf friend as a wolf made._'

GAH. -tears out hair-

IS ALL SUBTLETY LOST ON YOU PEOPLE?!

Okay, yeah, I'm kidding, but guys. Guys guys guys.

...I forget the point I'm trying to make. Oh, never mind, onto the pointless and rushed chapter!

* * *

"Aroo?"

I freeze. And suddenly Yo is looking very, _very_ interestedly into the woods just past the side of the road.

And it seems like the forest itself is creaking, waiting for me to say something, maybe, waiting for me to whisper instructions to it. Waiting to see what direction I'll take.

_So? What'll it be then? Forest or road, sweetie? You really ought to decide before...well, before something happens. Such a shame to let such a pretty thing go off wandering on her own..._

I shiver. That sounded like Alice In Wonderland gone wrong, or something.

I can just barely, maybe, as long as I'm looking for it, see the faint outline of something very large and very furry past the first few rows of trees.

"Hey. Hey, hey Jake," I venture, even though I'm not completely sure it's him. It wouldn't make any sense, if it were somebody else, so it's gotta be him, I guess.

I don't know. I guess I should've brought water, or something. Maybe.

The furry thing whines.

Well, we all know what's going to happen, no sense in ruminating on it. I hop my bike up the hill; my hands vibrate on the handles due to the suddenly bumpy ground, relative to the smooth road. The wolf takes a step or two back, making that whining sound that dogs seem to be able to do so well, the repeated 'Hroo, hroo, hroo!'.

"Yeah, I'm coming."

I used to think - and it's funny, you'll like this, maybe - that...well, you know how highways are in the middle of nowhere? And how almost always they're flanked on either side by just random wilderness and the occasional 'rest stop'? I thought that those trees were planted there, that they built stuff off of the highway. Not that the highway is bisecting a forest, interrupting nature with convenience. Yeah, that's your deep thought of the day. Oh, well.

"Sup Jake. I guess you're gonna wanna talk when we get home."

"Hroo?" It's like someone tacked a question mark onto a whine, that's what that sound was. As if to say 'Jake? What Jake?'

"Er, Jake?" I ask, almost comically as I wheel my bike into viewing point of a wolf that could most certainly be filed into the category known as Not Jake. It certainly is a werewolf, unless of course Idaho suddenly has a population of bear-sized lone wolves.

_Do you remember my puppiesss, lovely? Well, do you? They remember you, sssweet._

What book is that from? It's freaking me out.

"Aroo," the wolf says, in the tone of 'well, no, but you're darned close.' One of Jake's friends. Did he say what color Embry's fur is? No, of course he didn't, because that would be silly. Well, I wonder if he was this sort of golden sandy color that this wolf is. I wonder if he's smaller. This wolf seems smaller.

He tilts his head to the side, almost avian, and sniffs a little bit.

He twitches his tail a little bit, and nudges my hand. His nose is cold and damp, but not disgustingly so, and I can feel the rough, wiry hairs on his snout.

He's got a hole, too. Something that hurts. I don't know why, exactly, but it's not as bad as Jake's. It's healing itself up, right there, and it's going slow but it's going all by itself. It doesn't need anyone's help. Like your ripped jeans just picked up a needle and thread and started sewing themselves back together.

I don't know. I don't. I just think that's kind of amazing, is all. That something that looks like it started off as big as Jake's hole is closing itself back up, that something that hurts so much can be self-repairing. Maybe it's just me, 'cause of all that stuff I had to fix for Jake and stuff. Like you've spent the last year screwing tops onto toothpaste tubes as your job, and then you see a machine that does it almost as efficiently.

"Oh," I say.

"Hello wolf," I say.

"I guess you're here to take me home, huh, wolf?" I say.

The wolf snorts. I snort too.

"Gee whiz," I say darkly (insomuch that the phrase 'gee whiz' can actually be said darkly), spinning the pedals so that my foot rests comfortable on one. Ready for takeoff, sir, just say the word.

He wags his skinny tail, tickling the fern behind him, and barks.

He then looks like he thinks that barking thing was a pretty stupid idea.

Yo is 'hrooing' all over the place, tugging on the leash to try and get at him.

The wolf heads offward in some direction that's...oh, I think my compass fell off my jacket. Er.

Well, I'm assuming he's headed in a direction that's vaguely homeward. And Yo was already pretty keen on following him, so...

_...and when you start off lost, it's hard to get loster._

That one I know. That's Orson Scott Card, talking about Bean in Ender's Shadow. Seems like good advice to follow, I suppose.

Rocks and logs pave my path, proving for a much more difficult journey as I'm jolted and dinged in my attempt to follow the wolf.

Seems like good advice, Mr. Card, but if I fall over something and break a bone, I'm blaming you.

A/N: Yeah, yell at me and all that, I'm a terrible updater, I have no dignity or moral standards, lalelalela. Hapless Darklings is just really fun to write, mmkay? You know how writing is. Well anyways. I'm going to be away for like a week and a half starting Monday, so...yerp. I'll probably come back in a flurry of words and write like a fiend, I hope, so maybe that'll help redeem me. Ackhem.

* * *


	16. Chapter 16

There's not much to tell you of the ride home. I didn't fall down or anything, but I do feel like my legs are falling off. Like they're held on just barely by some stringy tendons. They shake when I hold still. Yo looks the same way, like bits of him are dead; scraggly and useless.

The wolf doesn't have much of an issue with the walking, though.

"You know, you can go back to human. I mean, if you want. If that's easier. I mean, what I'm saying is, I know. That you're, you know, and...sorry. I don't mean to..."

Wow, Sara, nice, talking to the wolf. The dude's doing his friend a favor. I'm actually pretty actively embarrassed. The wolf keeps trotting along at my pace, ignoring me (thanks, bud).

Then, ba-boom, I turn the next bend and see a vaguely familiar street, which leads down to a vaguely familiar house.

The wolf pauses at the edge of the forest, one paw dangling out into the street, considering. But soon he backs up, sitting just past the line where it becomes harder to see him. Foliage takes bits of him, hiding the wolf shape in a bunch of leaf shapes; if I didn't know he was there, I'd never guess.

"Thanks," I say, resisting the urge to pat him like a normal dog.

With a straining push, I pedal forward, the last few yards to the house. I lean my bike against the garage, and my legs buckle.

It feels so good to be sitting down! I might just stay here, for just a couple hours maybe, or maybe a few days, maybe then I'll be able to move again. I look at my house.

I look at my watch. Almost ten o'clock. Guess we took a shortcut. Huh. How 'bout that.

Well, I have to go up to my house, right? Yes. I'll do that when I count to thirty.

(...)

That was quick.

With my body protesting formally the whole way up, I rise, walking back up to my side door.

I slip in as quietly as I can, with the cursory "Hi mom."

"Hi sweetie," she calls from her office. That's all we really need to say. 'I'm home' and 'I recognize that'.

I stagger upstairs, because my room has the least chance of receiving person traffic, and right now I cannot deal with people, or talking, or whatever. I plop down on my bed, my arm over my eyes.

Hang on, why did I go on a bike ride four hours long? Somebody remind me, please. Had I been feeling lazy? No, that wasn't it. Uhm, energetic, no, definitely not...uhm...the wolf, it had something to do with-

"Sara, you're back."

Oh, right, that guy, I didn't want to be there when he left.

Why the hell hasn't he left yet?!

Inconsiderate nincompoop.

"Mm," I grumble, rubbing my eyes. Go _away_. Stop bothering me, I have sleeping to do.

"Where'd you go?"

"Stuff. Places."

"Oh, thanks for the specificity."

"Hmp."

"Are you mad at me?" He sounds worried. Maybe I should open my eyes.

Fine. In thirty seconds.

"Nope."

"But...you're upset?"

"Not really. You leaving soon?"

I open my eyes (_ow_, it almost stings,) just in time to see him wince. He's even got a little drawstring bag to tie around his foot when he's running. Aw. How _cute_.

"I...guess so."

"Where're you going, exactly?"

"Washington."

"That's helpful. That only narrows my search down to an entire state."

"La Push. It's kind of near Port Angeles."

"I don't know where Port Angeles is. I know where Seattle is?"

He sighs. "It's on the coast."

"Okay." It's not like I'm going to look it up in an atlas or something, jeez. "Hope you enjoy yourself."

"I don't think I will."

What, you want me to take away the little tiny pain you feel from leaving here? You're sad, sure, but just because your little girlfriend won't be there anymore. Ugh. I hate guys.

"Uh huh. Bye." I roll over, bury my face in my pillow. Sleep tugs at my edges.

"You _are_ mad at me."

What are you, a tweenage girl? Sheesh, so emotional. Well, guess what, buddy? _You_ shouldn't be emotional, it's my job to have all those things.

Lucky.

Fucking.

Me.

"I'm not mad at you, I'm tired and cranky, so just send me an e-card in a couple weeks and we'll keep in touch."

"Sar?" I feel the bed depress where he sits down on it, places a big warm hand on my back. I feel heat emanate from him. Look, I'm sweaty enough already, Paws McGraw.

"_What_?" More importantly, why aren't you gone yet?

"I'm...sorry. This was totally unfair of me to do."

I yawn. "Why're you making this such a big deal? You know my email and IM and stuff and my phone number. 'S the twenty-first century, dude."

I peek out from the tent I've made with my hands.

He looks hurt.

He feels hurt. Something tastes like dust in my mouth. Betrayal. Betrayal? Yeah, _I'm_ the two-faced one.

I suck it away, even though I don't want to - future me will want to have.

He blinks, smiles at me. "Sorry. You know that. I'm _sorry_. But I can't run away forever."

"I don't expect you to."

Just don't forget me, okay?

The little voice inside me squeaks it, but not out loud, thankfully.

I think, maybe, I'd be crying right now if I had the energy - thank goodness I don't.

"Well...I- I have to go right now."

"Uh huh."

"_Right_ now."

"Got it."

"Seth's waiting outside."

Okay, Seth is the sandy wolf.

"Bye." I sit up, because I need him to shut up and I know what he wants even though I'm mad at him I'm _mad_ at him and all that stuff I've been relieving from other people is finally building up in my bloodstream and trying to choke me and trying to choke him and I feel like _something in this room_ is going to explode.

Our hug is brief and awkward before he slips out the window. I lean my elbows on the sill and watch the blue night, casting its color of darkness over everything - nothing has color anymore. You know what I mean, how night seems to suck it away. Cover it up. Whatever.

He's out of sight soon enough.

I close the window with a slide and a click; catch sight of my reflection in the old glass. An apathetic girl with dark hair and a round face, with dark eyes and a strange figure. I go back to sit on my bed, still staring at the girl in my window. She's see-through, a little bit. This girl looks like she's hurting too, all over the place. But I can't take it away from her. She the one person I can't seem to fix.

Despite my fatigue, I watch her for over and hour, this girl I can't get to. I watch my reflection, and myself stay still and unmoving, because I know one of us has to get up at some point. I just won't go first.

There's no way to fix this girl. And that's a shame, because she has one of the saddest faces I've ever seen.

A/N: Sorry for the wait...I'm trying to teach myself to draw. Sheesh, Nit, that's just bound to end in sadness. Anyways, if you have a deviant art account, I dunno, drop me a line. I'm kind of floating in a sea of lonely. Same screen name...? Ah, nobody has to, 's fine. I can't really draw, either.

Anyways. This story is coming to a close, though I can't pinpoint the exact number of chapters left. So, I know nothing happened here, but this really isn't an action story...uh, yeah.

* * *


	17. Happily Ever After My Bum

"Ms. Ellison," the reporter is a woman in her late forties, her hair just beginning to grey, her lips luminescent with too much make up. I taste just a hint of resentment, a deal of jealousy, and mostly an urgency to get this story over with.

"Ms. Ellison, you have been described as the Jacques Cousteau of North American forests." I blush furiously.

I'm standing in front of, get this, another several hundred acres of land that _I_ of all people have made into another national reserve, and it includes where my house used to be. That same pine-needle smell is here, that teasing hint of Maybe-Adventure and Almost-Magic that taunted me so much when I'd walk around here, that quivering hope that maybe a big wolf will just show up with a hole that I can fix. It's exactly the same. I haven't been back here since I left eighteen years ago, and it's completely the same.

"Well," I start awkwardly. "I really don't think I've done nearly as much as he did in his lifetime. But I am honored by the comparison; even as a teenager he was one of my idols."

She smiles blandly, adjusting her top. The cameraman behind her looks bored. You'd think that in the last couple of decades they might have made a super-magical video camera that films all on its own. Nope. It just has wicked-accurate zooming and adjustment settings that require almost no work on your part, so this guy is basically doing nothing at all.

The reporter woman smiles at me with perfect teeth. "Speaking of your earlier years," she begins. At least, I think that's what she said. I'm mostly looking at the way that her hair seems to be made of clay, and her skin is made of wax or rubber, and the rest of her is plastic. Not literally, we're not that advanced, it's just that it's obvious that she's under several layers of applied beauty.

"What influenced you to choose this career path?"

There's quite a crowd here. Did I mention that I'm on a stand? Like, a little platform, just so I could make a speech I just made? I'm like a wicked famous environmentalist! As much as an environmentalist can be famous. Which basically means that at one point a five-minute segment of one of the more popular online news pundit shows. Well, I say online like there's another option, but you know what I mean. I guess at thirty I'm getting all nostalgic. Whoo?

Anyways. Back to the crowd. There are a few trees in it all, and people have actually crowded around - to see _me!_ - a hundred that I can see.

And...and way back there, way in the back...a flash of-

Never mind. Ahem.

"Influences?" I repeat, slightly flustered.

She flashes me some bright white teeth again. "Yes, childhood experiences, anything you'd say?"

"Well...as you know, I did grow up in the forests of Montana. And when my family moved to Idaho..." I cough. "I, uh, I had a friend who was extremely...impassioned about wildlife, wolves especially. I suppose he rubbed off on me."

She laughs, and it's a plastic laugh. "You were friends with him...when you were in your early teens?"

"Yes."

"First love?"

I snort, and cover my mouth to smother laughter. First love?! Are you _kidding?!_

"Uh, no." I smile.

"No, I...I can't even recall his name anymore," I lie quietly, looking back out into the crowd.

There it is again, dammit! That flash of...

These stupid woods. I'm never going to stop imagining things. Maybe I should have just been a dime novel writer.

"Well," she continues. "You are a young, single, attractive woman," Let me stop you right there and accuse you of lying, lady. But fine.

"You are considered one of the country's finest environmental bachelorettes!" Is that- is that a word? Whatever.

"Actually, speaking of this country," I say. "I just want to mention as publicly as I can how grateful I am to President Lensington for listening to me. She even met with me privately to discuss what I and the public I represent wanted."

"Indeed," the woman smiles at me again. "Would you say you know Regina Lensington well?"

"Well, I'm no politician, to be sure," I begin.

She laughs. "Of course not, you're honest!"

I laugh too, and try to make it look forced. Because it is. So, I don't really have to _try_, you see.

Hang on, I definitely see something back there. Yes, I do, I _do_ see something, several somethings, and I swear I can almost make out-

"Back to what we were speaking of before: would you say you are eligible for dating?"

What?! Ugh. I mean, at least it isn't Fox Online News, but this webpage doesn't have a heckuva lot of integrity anyways.

"You know, Tina," I say, speaking through my teeth. "I really couldn't...say."

Eyes. That's what they are. _Eyes_. Big ones, reflecting light. And I'd say there are six or eight of them, twinkling like earth bound stars just beyond everyone else's vision.

"Well, that's it for Channel 6 Web News in environment," says the woman, turning back to the camera and smiling the biggest fake smile yet.

"I'm Tina Arangino, back to you Chuck."

XXX

And when everybody's packed up and gone home, I'm glad as hell that I always have camping gear in the back of my truck (oh, it's all electric, you silly nillies), because I am not going home tonight.

The soft little blue of night is already here. You know how when it's night, nothing really has color anymore? It's all just a different shade of dark. I wonder what shade I am. Color me night, and all that.

After setting up my tent, I'm walking around aimlessly. Maybe I expect one of them to show up, I don't know. I can't tell for myself.

I cross my arms, leaning up against a tree, a big oak, pressing my forehead into the bark.

I laugh bitterly, because maybe that'll make the little lump go away. "We're all mad here. I'm mad, you're mad..."

I hear a twig snap somewhere.

And for ten...

Fifteen...

Twenty...

Thirty seconds, I don't move, and I'm the color of the night and just part of the tree, waiting for just one more magic moment to happen, just one, just a little bit of closure...

No. No more noises.

I've had my moment, and it's over.

I make a quiet little sobbing sound that nobody can hear. "Thanks, Jacob Black. Thanks for coming into my life and screwing it up immensely."

Now, I don't swear. Not when I can help it. I'm not really religious, but I do believe in God, and I don't feel like He appreciates constant cussing.

But sometimes, you just gotta let go.

"Fuck you, Jacob Black," I say in a normal speaking voice.

Then, louder. "Fuck you, Jacob Black!"

Louder still. "_Fuck you, Jacob Black!_"

Now, shouting! "FUCK YOU, JACOB BLACK!"

-"ack-ack-ack-ak..."

It's the most satisfying echo I've ever heard.

Come on, I just insulted you, why won't you - why won't you at least acknowledge that?

"Excuse me?" A feather-soft voice. A guy, broad-shouldered and in his late twenties, and - get this - fricking shirtless, peeks out at me from behind some trees.

"Yes?" I say, my voice tinged with anger.

He's...let me see...plenty of trepidation, a little bit of fear, some hope, and...wait, what? Oh, love, gotcha. (Yeah, THAT emotion.) He's camping with his girlfriend, wants me to stop shouting obscenities at the top of my lungs. Prude. I just saved your stinking forest.

"You're...Sarah Ellison, right? The environmentalist...?"

"Yes."

"Well, I was here with my girlfriend," I TOLD YOU. Didn't I tell you? I told you. "And I thought...well, I know him pretty well, and...uh..."

I sigh.

I'm not really mad at him. I'm not broken up about anything, really. He changed my life real quick, set me on a career path I love, and I'm thankful. I'm just feeling lonely and bitter, mmkay? Oh, listen to me.

"And...uh...?"

"Listen, we all know about you. Kind of a legend. Emotion thief, right?"

"Hm?"

"Jake says you took away all his shitty emotions. So, emotion thief. That's what everybody calls you."

"Oh, joy of the world, how I shall now rejoice in the fact that people I barely know have a nickname for me."

"Actually," he grins. "You've kind of become part of one of the new legends."

"What?"

"Anyways," he continues. It's like when my dog Lorenzinii just 'happens' to not hear me calling him at the dog park. "I...feel like maybe you two should get in touch. Uh. You know."

I stare at this boy for a minute. "Uh _huh_."

"So..." he scratches his head. "Uh, I just wrote down his cell number for you."

"Yeah."

"Here." He shoves some paper towards me. I take it dumbly. Is it silly that I feel like he's trespassing?

"Were a bunch of you here today?"

He blushes. "Yeah..." he rubs the nape of his neck. "Yeah, but Jake...he said he didn't think you'd want to see him."

Typical.

"Oh. Well, thank you...?"

"Seth."

"Seth. Thank you, for this. Maybe I'll see you again."

"Yeah. I hope so. You seem like a nice person. With the exception of..."

Most of the time. "Of the screaming fit of rage just now in which I brutally cursed your second-in-command for annoying me at age fourteen?"

"Yeah." You really like that word, don't you, buddy?

"Well," he says again. "Bye."

"Goodbye, Seth," I say quietly, heading back towards my tent.

Maybe tonight I'll sleep well. Maybe tonight I'll stop thinking that if this is the real world, I don't want to be sane.

Hell, who am I kidding, I'll be up until two a.m. listening to music and reading Sandman comics, but it's nice to think I'll get peace of mind from this one little fixed fragment of my life, huh?

A/N: THE END! No, seriously. In case you didn't get it, it's eighteen years later, she's thirty, and...yeah. Any questions, children? I have more figured out, but it seemed too epilogue-y if I added in all the actual love life stuff. So I could tell you about that, if you're curious, but...yeah. Woo-hoo! (For the...one person, I think, who's also reading Hapless Darklings, you remember who Liam had a crush on? Heheheh...)

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